


The Loudest Wish in the Room

by jaylinbee



Category: Angel: the Series, Criminal Minds, Grimm (TV), Supernatural, Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Crossover, Death, Epic, Fantasy, Feels, Lost Love, Love Triangles, M/M, Magic, Mystery, Sexy Times, True Love, Unrequited Love, magic beans, sexy ghosts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-11-27 06:57:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 53,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/659165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaylinbee/pseuds/jaylinbee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In order to be with his dead lover, a vampire uses magic to create a world where all wishes are his command. He quickly makes himself king and sets out to amuse himself with murder, mayhem, and lust. But when some of his subjects discover that they are living in a world that's a lie, they want nothing more than to expose their corrupt King and set things back to the way they belong. That is, until they find out that some of their greatest wishes have been granted by the spell, and setting things "right" will change their lives... and loves... forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One: Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Written for NaNoWriMo 2012, this story smashes some of my favorite shows into one epic story: Supernatural, Grimm, Vampire Diaries, Criminal Minds, and Angel all came to play. One day I thought to myself, what if Special Agents Derek Morgan and Spencer Reid had to profile a Vampire? Would Grimm's Nick Burkhardt get along with other hunters? I want to write an epic fic for NaNoWriMo but I can't seem to choose one ship! This is the story that came out of it. It's still a work in progress, but I've already got lots of it, and never fear dearies, I know how it ends. 
> 
> A little context: The current shows pick up in November of 2012. This is where things were when I started the fic and anything that aired after that time does not exist in the story. Angel begins eight years after the finale, but doesn't include any post show additions like the season 6 comics.
> 
> Music: when writing for NaNo, I find creating a soundtrack for the story always helps it along, and including some of the lyrics really pads your word count! I had a lot of fun finding songs for each setting, relationship, etc. I included lyrics here because I think it really helps in creating a full experience, and expressing what is motivating the characters. I attributed all the lyrics to the performing artists.

_I need perfection_

_Some twisted selection_

_That tangles me_

_To keep me alive_

_In all that exists_

_None have your beauty_

_I see your face_

_I will survive_

_Some silken moment_

_Goes on forever_

_And we're leaving_

_Yeah we're leaving broken hearts behind_

_~INXS~_

“A fucking bean, are you kidding me?” The Vampire scoffed at the witch, and at the so-called magical object in her hand.

“You laugh, vampire, but the power of the magic bean is true. It has been used before to great effect. As it is, it creates a porthole to other worlds. In the hands of a powerful sorcerer, it can do much more than that.”

The Vampire looked at his lover, who stood by his side, though no one else could see him. “Are you that strong a sorcerer?” He asked him. The petite man smiled, nodded softly.

“Oh not I,” said the witch, mistaking the question as directed at her, because she could not see The Vampire’s companion. “But its power is legendary. Of course because of that, it is nearly a priceless object.”

“Everything has a price,” said The Vampire. “What’s yours, witch? I can get money.”

“Oh money is for short-sighted fools,” the witch replied. “I require something more difficult to come by. Something that should be fairly easy for you though, in your line of existence.”

“I’m waiting.”

“The heart of a virgin, taken while it still beats!”

“That’s pretty disgusting. What do you need that for?”

“I’m working on a spell of my own. I have not the power to tear a heart from a beating breast. But you do, vampire. What is one more life to you?”

“You make a valid argument,” The Vampire said with a nod, and looked to his lover again. A look in the eyes, and he knew it was a go. With a speed almost undetectable by the human eye, The Vampire stabbed his fist into the witch’s chest, wrapped his hand around her beating heart, and yanked it free. The witch fell lifeless to the ground. His lover looked at him, amused.

“I don’t think she was a virgin, darling,” he said smiling. The Vampire brought the heart up to his mouth, sinking his fangs into the dark red organ and drinking deeply.

“You’d be right, lover,” he said, the remnants of his Irish brogue lilting the last word, making it lyrical, beautiful. “I don’t suppose she can use it then,” he said with a laugh, dropping the heart onto the witch’s body, and then squatting down to retrieve the bean from her cold, dead hand. “So this is really it then? The key to the rest of our lives?”

“You’ll see,” his lover reassured him. “Soon you and I will be making love in the sunlight. And all the world will bow to our power, whether they like it or not.”


	2. Introductions: Supernatural

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean argue about what job to take next, but when Sam learns the true nature of Dean and Benny's relationship, it will tax the brother's relationship even further.

_There's no need for living in the past_  
Now I've found good loving gonna make it last  
I tell the others don't bother me  
'Cos when they look at you they don't see what I see  
No I don't listen to their wasted lines  
Got my eyes wide open and I see the signs  
But they don't know about us  
And they've never heard of love

_~Kristy MacColl~_

 

Sam looked at his brother Dean exasperatedly.

“We are supposed to be following Kevin. I think we finally have a trail! This could be the end of all demons on this earth. Our last battle!”

“I am well aware of that Sammy.”

“Then why the hell are you suggesting we go to California? The trail points to Michigan!”

“These trails have been bullshit, and you know it. I’ve got something solid out in Cali that we could actually do something about.”

“Something solid. As in, you know exactly what is going on.”

“I know something bad is going on! My source has a handle on these kinds of things—”

“I’m sorry, which source is this? Because all the sources we’ve agreed on have either died or were left behind in purgatory in a story I’m just not privy to.”

“Will you shut up about Cas already? Don’t make me talk about him! He’s gone, that’s all you need to know.” There was pain in Dean’s eyes every time Sam brought up Castiel. Sam could see it, and he didn’t want to make Dean hurt, but he wanted desperately to understand what had happened down there. And how this vampire named Benny factored in to it.

“What I really need to know,” Sam pressed, “is has Cas been replaced?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Fresh anger and indignation flared up in Dean’s face.

“You know what I mean.”

“Bullshit I do.”

“Who’s this source of yours Dean? Is it Benny?”

“So what if it is Benny?”

“Benny is a _vampire_. Whenever I’ve befriended a demon in the past—”

“—Benny is not Ruby.”

“Well I should say not. Ruby didn’t have a penis. Which made her far less interesting to you.” The words were out before Sam could think to hold them back. But maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it was time they started being a little more honest with each other.

“Fuck you Sam! You had better watch what you’re saying little brother!” Dean was getting really pissed. How far was Sam going to go with this?

“All I’m saying is that any time we team up with demons we get screwed. Or maybe that’s what you’re hoping for. I can’t believe you’ve gotten over Cas so quickly.” Sam braced himself for the smack, but it didn’t come. Dean looked furious, but he held back. He got quiet, scary.

“You trying to get punched here? Stop talking about shit you know _nothing_ about.” He said through clenched teeth.

“Well maybe I would know something about it if you would confide in me Dean! Otherwise, what am I supposed to think?”

“Sammy, I swear…”

“Please! Talk to me! Why do you trust this vampire, Dean? Because I don’t. Anymore than you trusted Ruby. Which turned out to be the right call! Anymore than you trusted Amy. You made that call for me, but deep down I knew it was the right one. So please give me one good reason why I should be teaming up with this guy, and not staking him through the heart?” Sam’s eyes were pleading now. Frustrated, but wanting to listen.

Dean tried to imagine explaining the Benny thing to Sam. The fact that the two of them had pretty much depended on each other in Purgatory, a place where alliances were not easily come by. The spark between them in the most desolate of places, finding comfort in their shared masculinity, their angry fire, their thirst for war, their mutual desire for survival. Benny’s strong arms and soft beard, his broken soul, his command of Dean’s body without guilt or apology.  He didn’t know how to explain this to Sam, knew he could never make him understand why he needed what Benny had offered. He searched his mind for something Sam might understand, something that wasn’t the whole, but was still the truth.

“He saved Castiel’s life, for one,” Dean tried, remembering the moment: Castiel’s weariness, Benny’s actions completely for Dean, regardless of the tensions caused by the angel’s reappearance. It wasn’t that Benny was good. It was that Benny was willing to do things because they were what Dean wanted. “He didn’t have to,” Dean continued. “He didn’t like Cas. But he did it cause it was the right thing.” He paused and looked for Sam to nod in agreement, acknowledgement, something. Sam looked like he was waiting for more. Dean soldiered on.

“Me and Benny, we were in the trenches together Sam,” he said, “and there is no way for you to know what that’s like. So I don’t know how to explain it to you. But Benny has my back. He’s the one that got me out of there.”

“Because he needed you to get himself out?” Sam countered.

“Sure. But it’s more than that now. And you’re just going to have to accept that.”

“More than that how? I just wish I knew what your motives were. What is Benny to you?”

“What are you really asking me Sam?” Dean asked angrily, not wanting Sam to answer.

“You know what I’m asking! What you never want to tell me! What you would never tell me about Cas, but I got it, and I think you know I got it. And I don’t know how many others there have been. Agent Henrikson, maybe?”

“Henrikson? What is this, a history lesson?”

“Am I just supposed to pretend I don’t notice? Because that’s what I always do. What I’ve always done.”

“So why change now?” Dean demanded.

“This is different! And I need to know so I can gauge where you’re coming from!”

“Oh, so you can gauge if I’m in my right mind? If I’m making major decisions based on my _feelings_? Or my fuckin’ libido? Because I do that shit so often? That is complete bullshit Sammy. You have no reason to second guess me on this.”

“I do if you’re sleeping with a vampire.”

Silence.

Sam’s statement hung in the air between them. Dean looked shocked- betrayed somehow that Sam had said it out loud. Like he’d gone back on their unspoken promise to leave certain things in the realm of ambiguity. Because Sam had.

“That’s none of your fucking business.” Dean said quietly.

“I think it is.”

Another silent beat. Dean swallowed dryly.

“Fine,” he barked. “I sleep with guys. We both know that. Not sure if dad ever knew. But whatever. There you have it.” Dean stared at Sam defiantly.

“I don’t care that you sleep with guys, Dean,” Sam said softly.

“Apparently you do care. Apparently you care a lot. Because this is not the conversation I wanted to have.”

“I care that you’re sleeping with a _vampire_. Because you are, aren’t you?” Sam didn’t know why exactly he was pushing for complete confirmation. Maybe it came back to Ruby, and how those kind of secrets could come back to fuck them both.

“Sex is just sex.” Dean said flatly. “Me and Benny have nothing to do with… me and anybody else.”

“Look, I’m not here to tell you how long you should mourn your boyfriend. My only concern is that you’re sleeping with a demon. And I know how that sort of thing ends. Better than most. And it usually ends with betrayal. And death.”

Dean winced inwardly at Sam’s use of the word “boyfriend.” Like Castiel could be reduced to that common human role, like they were some horny young professionals on a nighttime soap, fighting about stupid things like who deserved a bigger promotion or whether Cas’s overbearing father was getting in the way of their love. The idea that he could be “over it,” was ludicrous. 

“I’m not you, Sam. This is not the same as you and Ruby—”

“—seems kind of the same—”

“—it’s not the same! End of discussion.” Dean was fed up, pushed to his limit. “Now you got what you said you want. The straight up truth. Now it’s time to get in the damn Impala and go to California. My vampire fuck-buddy has a job for us to look into. And Last I checked you were off for a year, and I’m still the oldest, and it’s still my car, so we do this my way! Capiche?”

“Capiche,” Sam said resignedly. This was going to be a long ass drive.


	3. Introductions: Grimm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick seduces an initially reluctant Monroe into getting busy.

_Now I know that we were close before._  
I'm glad I realized I need you so much more.  
And I don't care what everyone will say.  
It's about you and me.  
And we'll never be the same again.

_I thought that we would just be friends._  
Things will never be the same again.  
It's just the beginning it's not the end.  
Things will never be the same again.  
It's not a secret anymore.  
Now we've opened up the door.  
Starting tonight and from now on.  
We'll never, never be the same again. 

_~Melanie C~_

“Enough with the tea!” Nick Burkhardt said forcefully, getting into Monroe’s face, blocking his access to the kitchen. Monroe had been throwing up roadblocks since Nick had gotten to his place to “talk about the latest case.” It had just been an excuse, of course. Nick had been gunning for a reason to return ever since Monroe had kissed him two days ago, and then promptly run away.  He’d been avoiding Nick ever since.

Nick had never kissed a guy before that. He had always dated women, because he had been expected to. Juliette had been the way things were supposed to go. But her being under that spell and forgetting all about him… it had changed the way he looked at destiny. And then Monroe had kissed him.

He hadn’t been expecting it at all. He’d been complaining about how things were going with Juliette, how he was losing patience with the whole thing. He’d been really listening to everything Monroe had to say about it, because Monroe was a really smart guy, and usually had good advice. Nick liked the way Monroe always gave him his full, undivided attention. He’d been listening intently, smiling slightly as Monroe told him that Juliette may never get her memories back, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t make new ones. Then he’d been saying some more stuff, Nick couldn’t really remember what anymore because the next thing he knew Monroe had kissed him on the mouth, and Nick had felt that kiss all the way down to the tips of his toes. He had never been kissed like that before in his life, and he’d done quite well in life, being so classically good looking and all. But before Nick could ask for another kiss, or even find out why Monroe had planted the first one, the blast Blutbad had taken off, and been hiding from him ever since.

“Is it because I’m a guy?” Nick asked boldly. “Because you started it.”

“What? Nick, what are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about. Us. Us kissing, us hopefully doing much more than that!”

“You think I’m avoiding that because you’re a guy?”

“What else would it be?”

“How about because you’re a _Grimm_? Most Blutbaden are bisexual Nick, it’s in our nature. _When it comes to other Blutbaden!_ A Blutbad and a Grimm? That’s unheard of. I don’t _even_ know what might happen.”

“I do,” Nick said simply. “Pleasure had by all. Stop being such a racist.”

“Oh come _on._ You know that’s not me. I don’t care if you’re a Grimm. We’re best friends, though. Aren’t you worried this could damage that?”

“No.”

“Aren’t you worried I could damage you?”

“What? How do you figure?”

“I usually mate with other predators, Nick. Blutbad sex can be kind of… rough. It’s another side to me.”

Instead of looking deterred, Nick looked visibly aroused by the idea of Monroe’s rough other side. He walked up closer to his friend, his eyelids dropping, tilting his head to look up at Monroe through fringy lashes.

“Grimms are predators,” he said huskily. “I mean, more or less.”

Monroe swallowed. Tried to steady his breath.

“I guess you have a point there.”

“I’ve got a point elsewhere too,” Nick said, pushing up on Monroe, grinding his erection into the Blutbad’s thigh.

“Are you sure about this?” Monroe asked one last time. In answer to his question, Nick leaned up and met Monroe’s lips with his, lashing out an exploratory tongue into his best friend’s mouth.

With a desirous growl, Monroe grabbed Nick in his arms, pulling him roughly closer. He began to kiss Nick back hungrily. One hand went up into Nick’s hair and pulled it hard enough to make Nick cry out. With his other arm he scooped Nick up and lifted him to his hips, where Nick wrapped his legs around him greedily. They banged into a wall and a small clock fell off a shelf, knocking Nick’s shoulder. He thought Monroe might get pissed, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was grinding Nick up against the wall, mauling him with his mouth and hands, trying to pull Nick’s pants down while he was pinned to the wall. When he finally realized that wasn’t going to work, he growled again, tore Nick from the wall, and threw him forcefully onto the couch, and then stood for just a minute, chest heaving, eyes glowing red, a large tent of an erection in the front of his pants. Nick felt desire and just a little fear wash over him. He had wanted this, but did he even know what he was asking for? His own erection pounded out “oh yes, you know” and a yearning throb from another part of his anatomy where he was not used to feeling so aroused.

“God you’re so fucking hot,” Monroe said in a husky, deep voice Nick had not known he possessed. Frankly Nick was glad that Monroe could still speak as a human. The beast in him was very apparent.

 Monroe started heading for him, his eyes filled with sexual intent. “I’m going to make you so mine,” he growled, advancing towards Nick like the predator he’d warned him about. Nick’s Grimm instinct was to pull away, and so even though he wanted Monroe more than anything right now, he sprang up the moment the Blutbad neared him, sideswiped his leg so that Monroe tumbled onto the couch, and ran down the hallway, fully aware that almost immediately Monroe was chasing at his heels, barreling him into the bedroom, where the two wrestled onto the bed, panting, growling, laughing, kissing, punching, scrapping, biting, rubbing, loving.

Soon their clothes were all over the floor, and they were hot, sweating, moaning and Nick was begging for him as he was being rubbed and licked and sucked and spread until he felt Monroe claim him with the biggest, wettest cock he’d seen outside of a porn film. Nick cried out from the pain and the pleasure that was all wrapped up in one, gasping and writhing and giving himself up completely. Nick felt Monroe pulsing inside him as they rode each other to a climax that was coming too soon, too soon and yet Nick was desperate for it, crying for the culmination of their shared want. As the orgasm washed over him, rocking his body and curling his toes, he felt completely out of control and for the first time ever it was a feeling he couldn’t get enough of. This was the beginning of something, all right. He felt Monroe empty into him, gasp out the remains of his own orgasm, and collapse on top of him. Nick enrobed Monroe with his limbs, enjoying the weight of him, enjoying the way Monroe was still inside him, filling him in a way he never ever knew he needed. Things would never be the same again.


	4. Introductions: Criminal Minds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The FBI profilers in Quantico learn of a grizzly new case, where people's beating hearts are being ripped from their chests. But Reid's growing crush on Morgan makes it hard to pay attention.

_You've been on my mind,_  
I grow fonder every day,  
Lose myself in time,  
Just thinking of your face,  
God only knows why it's taken me   
So long to let my doubts go,  
You're the only one that I want  
  
I don't know why I'm scared,  
I've been here before,  
Every feeling, every word,  
I've imagined it all,  
You'll never know if you never try,  
To forget your past and simply be mine

_~Adele~_

 

“Three victims, forty eight hours. No known connection, each of them had their hearts yanked out of their chests like they ran into Mola Ram,” Penelope Garcia informed the group of FBI profilers.

“Who is Mola Ram?” Asked Morgan.

“Garcia’s referring to the villain in Steven Spielberg’s 1984 classic _Indiana Jones and theTemple of Doom_ , the second movie in the Indiana Jones series,” said Reid. “In the movie, Mola Ram was a high priest of the Thuggee religious cult, but is most known for plunging his fist into people and ripping their hearts out while they watched in absolute terror before succumbing to inevitable death.”

“You could have just said “the heart rip guy from Indiana Jones,” Morgan said.

“You know him better than that,” said Rossi.

“Is something like that even possible?” Asked JJ.

“It has to be possible, because it’s happened,” said Hotch. “We don’t know yet how they are accomplishing these murders, or the motive behind them. But the first victim was found in Portland, Oregon, while the second and third took place in L.A. That makes this a federal case, and we’ve been called in.”

“The victim in Portland is  Rod Humphreys, a nightclub owner. In Los Angeles we’ve got a wealthy art dealer, and a small business owner.”

What kind of business?” Asked Blake.

“Erica Platt ran a Wiccan supply store,” Garcia said. “But nothing was taken, as far as we can tell. The only one that looks like a burglary is Bert Carlson, the art collector. A very rare, really ancient book was reported as stolen from his collection. But nothing else.”

“What kind of book?” asked Blake again.

“Ancient writings from some kind of alchemist.”

“Alchemists are also thought of as sorcerers in some circles,” said Reid.

“My thoughts exactly,” said Blake.

“Garcia,” said Hotch. “Look into our victims for possible relations to the occult. Find out if Rod Humphreys had any associations to it at all. This could be our connection.”

“Roger that,” said Garcia.

“For the rest of us it’s wheels up. Blake and Rossi, you two head to Portland and check out the crime scene there. Reid and Morgan, you get the art collector. JJ, you and I will head to the Wiccan store.”

Reid’s heart leaped just a little, as it always did when he was paired with Derek Morgan.  He was pretty sure Morgan knew about Reid’s gigantor sized crush on him, but he didn’t seem to mind. He kind of encouraged it, actually. Just like he did with Garcia. Morgan loved having people crazy about him.

There had been so many times that Reid had almost told him the truth, made a move. Morgan had left hints before that he was bisexual, a “true player on an open field” as he put it. Of course that didn’t mean he’d even have the slightest romantic interest in a thirty year old virgin with a huge brain, skinny limbs and zero muscle tone. People like Spencer Reid just did not score people like Derek Morgan. And since Derek Morgan was the only person Reid was currently interested in, Spencer Reid would remain a thirty year old virgin, indefinitely.

On the plane ride Reid tried to review the case- the heart ripping thing was certainly interesting- but Morgan had just that morning decided to shave off his goatee- something Reid found even more fascinating. Was it for someone specifically? A lover of the week who preferred him clean shaven? Was it just that he was changing it up, as he often did with both his head and chin? Reid liked him with or without facial hair, but the goatee had been there for over a year, so he was greedily taking in the return of Morgan’s chin. You could definitely see more of his excruciatingly beautiful face without it.

“Hey,” Morgan said, rapping Reid lightly on the arm.

“Huh?” Reid said, jerked out of his reverie by its very subject.

“I can count on you to know a bunch of stuff about alchemy, right? Since the unsub is stealing books about it?”

“Um, yeah,” Reid said, scanning his brain. “Alchemy is an influential philosophical tradition whose early practitioners' claims to profound powers were known from antiquity. The defining objectives of alchemy are varied; these include the creation of the fabled philosopher's stone possessing powers including the capability of turning base metals into the noble metals gold or silver, as well as an elixir of life conferring youth and immortality. Western alchemy is recognized as a protoscience that contributed to the development of modern chemistry and medicine. Alchemists developed a framework of theory, terminology, experimental process and basic laboratory techniques that are still recognizable today. But alchemy differs from modern science in the inclusion of Hermetic principles and practices related to mythology, religion, and spirituality.”

“Wow, you really do know everything.”

“Actually I was just quoting from Wikipedia,” Reid said with a grin. “If I read it, I can repeat it.”

“Works for me kid.”

Reid had a love/hate relationship with Morgan’s pet name for him. At first he had hated it, because they really hadn’t known each other all that well and he thought that Morgan was kind of looking down on him with it. Then he had started to kind of like it, because it was the little inside name that they shared, and he was glad to have that with him. But then he got to thinking that Garcia’s “baby-girl” was _way_ more flirty and flattering, so he was kind of jealous of that. And he wasn’t really a kid anymore anyway. He was over thirty, despite looking like a six foot tall twelve year old with a gigantic pistol strapped to his belt. So yeah, he was kind of over “kid,” and yet he really didn’t want it to stop unless it got replaced with something better, like shorty, my boo, or preferably wifey. But again, those were pipe dreams.

“We also have to consider the fact that the book could have been stolen for its monetary value,” Morgan continued.

“What’s it say about that?”

"You're asking me?" Morgan queried.

“Huh?”

“What’s with you today? You’ve got the file from the insurance company about the stolen book,” Morgan said, pointing to the file on Reid’s lap. “So stop dreaming about me and tell me what it says.” Reid felt his face flush beet red. When Morgan said things like that, he couldn’t tell if he was serious or not.

“Right. According to this, it’s highly doubtful that anyone would steal the book for the money. Even though Carlson paid over five hundred thousand dollars for it in 1998, something like this is really hard to move on the black market. It is much more likely that the unsub stole it because he actually wanted it; it must have posed valuable to him in some way.”

“Leads us back to the occult connection. That’s just great.”

“You’re not afraid of the supernatural, are you Derek?”

“No I’m not afraid of it. I just don’t like it.”

“You don’t actually believe in that stuff though, do you?”

“It doesn’t matter whether its real or not, or whether I believe in it or not. I’ve found that the unsubs that believe in it are often some of the scariest human beings we come across.”

“So do you or don’t you believe in it?”

“I won’t play with a Ouija board, I’ll say that much.”

Reid chuckled. “Very interesting.”

“Laugh all you want. But when you accidentally invite the spirit of Jeffery Dahmer into your body one Halloween night, the joke will be on you.”

“I feel so violated.” Reid cracked. They both laughed at that one.  

“Well, I’m headed back to my headphones,” Morgan said, giving Reid’s knee a casual pat and settling back into his seat.

 _“God I want you Derek Morgan,”_ Reid thought to himself, touching his own knee where Morgan’s hand had just been. Tingles, every time. 


	5. Introductions: Vampire Diaries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damon and Allaric's sexy time is ruined by a grim reality.

_And there's no remedy for memory your face is_  
Like a melody, it won't leave my head  
Your soul is haunting me and telling me  
That everything is fine  
But I wish I was dead  
Every time I close my eyes  
It's like a dark paradise  
No one compares to you  
I'm scared that you won't be waiting on the other side

_~Lana Del Rey~_

Damon was awakened by the sensation of soft lips enrobed in a faint, scratchy stubble sucking teasingly on his left nipple. The sensation sent a direct line to his cock, and with a sharp intake of breath as he felt himself swell at the pleasurable rush of blood to the head.

“Good morning,” he said huskily, eyes fluttering open to see Alaric completely over him, strong body propped up on well muscled arms, head bowed to Damon’s chest, suckling at his tit like a newborn baby. A brief image of John Lennon and Yoko Ono came to mind, but he banished it away because those two weren’t anywhere near sexy enough for the action in this room. Alaric’s tongue trailed off his nipple and up his chest, across his collar bone to his neck, where he dived in for more kisses that made Damon’s back arch and his ass pucker with desire.

“You’re killing me,” he moaned, as one of Alaric’s hands found his cock, wrapped a brawny fist around it and began to pull, sending Damon’s entire body coursing with intense need.

“You, my dear, are immortal,” Alaric whispered in Damon’s ear, lips pressed against it, a quick tongue lashing out with a hot, wet tickle. “I could never kill you.” He nibbled his ear briefly and then sat up, straddling Damon who could now see that Alaric was completely naked, his thick, hard cock on full display, his body ripped and ready to take full advantage of the sleepy, horny vampire.  “How bad do you want me?” Alaric asked, stroking himself now, watching Damon squirm beneath him. Damon’s eyes took in the image greedily. He was reaching down and playing with himself inadvertently, breath heaving, ready to take in all of it. It surprised him how willing he was to submit to Alaric. It wasn’t his usual forte.

“Just fuck me already,” he pleaded, hating that Alaric could reduce him to this, but unable to deny it.

“I’m sorry Damon, I can’t do that,” Alaric replied. It should have been teasing, but there was a shift in his tone. He sounded sad, almost. Lost.

“Of course you can. I’m asking you too. I’m right here begging you to enter me,” Damon said with frustration.

“I know, but we both know there’s one problem,” Alaric said, again with the sadness.

“No we don’t. I don’t know,” Damon insisted, dread creeping in around the edges, trying not to look at him now. Trying to close his eyes and not know, not see.

“I’m dead, Damon,” Alaric said.

“Noooo!” Damon cried out. “I refuse that!”

“I’m not sure why we never made love when we had the chance,” Alaric continued. Damon felt tears welling up in his eyes, but he blinked them away and shook his head, refusing to accept this, any of it. “I suppose it was your fascination with Elena; it took precedence,” ventured Alaric. “Or maybe it was me… I definitely had my demons. We both wanted it. I’m sure of that now.”

“And we can still have it,” said Damon stubbornly. “In here, where nobody else matters. When you touch me it feels real. My body responds. I can hear your voice, every tone and crack is you. I need this to be real, don’t you see? I never told you I lo—”

“It’s too late for that,” Alaric interrupted. He never let Damon say the three little words. “You need to move on.”

“To what? To everything falling apart? You would be wrecked if you were here to see it! What has happened to Elena would be your worst nightmare!”

“So maybe it’s for the best that I’m dead.”

“You are not dead! You can’t be!” Damon shouted. “This is my dream, and _my_ rules!”

“I’m sorry Damon, but your subconscious knows better,” said Alaric. “I wish it were different, too. We might have had a lifetime… or two…”

Damon pulled his knees up to his chest, hugged himself angrily, and fought back more angry tears.

“Sometimes you stay, in my dreams,” Damon said bitterly. “Sometimes you stay, and you love me. Sometimes we make plans.” If this was the only way to have Alaric with him, Damon needed it to last. But lately the time in the dreams spent in ignorant bliss was becoming shorter and shorter. As life continued without Alaric in it, it became increasingly difficult to reject that he was gone.

“Those times are over,” said Alaric sadly. “You have to let me go.”

“I will never let you go,” said Damon fiercely. It was more than just an argument, it was a promise. But  Alaric was starting to dissipate slowly, fading out from view. “I will never let you go!” Damon shouted, startled suddenly, by bright sunlight streaming across his face. Stefan was in front of him, shaking him from the nightmare.

“You okay?” Stefan asked him, those imploring eyes, half caring, half loathing.

“I’m fine,” Damon muttered, pushing Stefan away from him.

“Good, well then answer your phone. It’s been going off for the last thirty minutes.” Stefan handed it to him, and sure enough, Marilyn Manson’s Tainted Love wailed at him, demanding attention.

“Yeah,” Damon said impatiently into the mouthpiece.

“Damon, it’s Sean Renard. You should meet me in L.A. I’m hearing there’s a bit of magic down there that could possibly solve all our problems.”

“Not the bean?” Damon breathed in disbelief.

“The bean,” Sean replied.

It was a sign. His dream, his vow to never let Alaric go. And now this. Sean Renard and Damon went way back, to a time when Damon had been hell bent on finding Katherine and having her love him again. He had been seeking a certain magical object, and it just so happened that Sean, recently eighteen and shoved off to America by his family had been looking for it too. Neither of them had found it back then, but they had made a pact… This could change everything. 

“I’m there,” Damon said without hesitation, climbing out of the bed naked and flashing past Stefan without another word.


	6. Introductions: Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel is plagued by dreams of Lindsey McDonald, whom he had assassinated eight years ago. Meanwhile, his son Connor introduces him to an old friend in a surprising new role: Connor's boyfriend.

_I've seen fire and I've seen rain._

_I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end.  
I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend, _

_but I always thought that I'd see you again._

~ _James Taylor_ ~

Angel had been thinking a lot about Lindsey McDonald lately. It had been eight years since he’d ordered Lindsey’s assassination. Eight years since he’d lost Wesley forever, lost Lorne and Gunn as friends. So much loss that night, so much which could have been done differently, and yet his mind kept going back to Lindsey, that little snake.

He had told himself numerous times that he had done the right thing. He had justified it to himself again and again, but the need to justify something usually meant that it had not been the right thing to do. Giving the job to Lorne had definitely not been the right thing. He should never have asked that of the empath, for one thing. Lorne was not a killer, not even a fighter, really. He should not have Lindsey’s blood on his hands.

He also should have given Lindsey the honor of doing it himself, face to face. Lindsey deserved that much at least. It was true that he was morally weak, that he would never be able to be trusted, and that the world was not safe with Lindsey McDonald in it. Still, there were extenuating circumstances that made it hard for Angel to do it himself, which is exactly why he should have. Could he have done it though?

Angel had never seen Lorne again, but he did get a letter from him. One letter, explaining that the dirty deed was indeed done. He had included in it details that Angel would rather not have read. “ _He was quite surprised, as you could imagine. He hardly thought himself immortal, but he was greatly insulted that it was me. He said it should have been you. In fact, his very last word was Angel.”_

The image haunted Angel. He felt like a coward when he read them. Deep down he knew that he never could have killed the man he’d laid in bed with on many occasions, when anyone else would have posed a threat. The truth was that he has used Lindsey, used his wickedness as a much needed escape from the pure world he so desperately wanted to stay a part of. Having sex with someone he could never love posed no threat to his humanity. And yet…

He had moved on from the whole ordeal. After the battle, which they had somehow won, they had all scattered. He had taken Gunn to a hospital and left him there, hoping for the best but not believing in it. He had deserted Spike, who had wanted to stay together, at least for a while. But Spike had always been codependent. Of course Wesley had been gone.

It had seemed somehow very wrong to mourn Wesley and Lindsey on the same night, and there was no way he could have done it around anyone else. Because grief for Lindsey McDonald was not something he had expected to feel. And guilt he felt for both of them.

Illyria had left of her own accord, sated by the battle, crushing Fred’s humanity little by little. Breaking her ties to them was a big part of that, and so she had left, and he had been glad. One less reminder of one more person who had died from knowing him.

That had all been eight years ago, and a lot had happened. The best part being Connor, who lived with Angel at the Hyperion now. The real memories had eventually all come back, and the fake ones had faded, become a home movie of someone else’s life that Connor had seen a few times. Once that happened, his college career didn’t seem realistic to him anymore. The real world didn’t seem like somewhere he belonged. So he’s come home, and they’d managed to put themselves back together. They fought the bad guys together these days, and most of the time Angel didn’t think of the crew from Angel Investigations anymore… and yet lately, there was Lindsey.

He thought of him constantly. About their fights against each other, and about their fights side by side. About cutting off Lindsey’s hand, and about helping him free the new one from its evil curse. About the first time they’d fallen in bed together, at Lindsey’s prodding, of course. He had wanted Angel down his pants since their first words to each other, had said as much on many occasions. Angel had always said no, but after that whole Darla mess he’d been so weary… and he’d realized that sex without love did not equate to a moment of true happiness. Lindsey knew that too, and he played that card until Angel had succumbed, separated from his team, in a dark place. Their relationship was dysfunctional; abusive. They would fight, no one trusted the other. But sometimes Lindsey would pull out his guitar after, and play, and sing a little… he never should have done that.

“Dad.”

It was Connor, looking at Angel expectantly with his mother’s beauty and his father’s impatience. 

“What?”

“Have you even been listening to me? I am explaining something very important, and you seem lost in one of your little dreams again.”

Had Connor been talking to him? If he had, it had been drowned out by the sound of Lindsey playing James Taylor’s _Fire and Rain._

“I don’t have “little dreams” and I’m not having one now,” Angel lied, sounding decidedly grouchy.

“I have been having sex with another man, different from the one I was having sex with before. This one is kind of a big deal,” Connor announced.

The thing that was kind of annoying about Connor having mostly his old memories back, was that he’d eschewed most of the cultural norms that had been downloaded with his new life. Of course after eight years, he could have learned them all again by now, but for some reason he clung to the frank bluntness he had from not growing up with the grey areas and insecurities of the modern world. In Quor-Toth, the hell dimension in which he’d been raised, there had not been much reason for verbal communication at all, and therefore tact had never been part of his upbringing. Angel had suggested it on occasion, but Connor believed that tact was too close to lying, and lies and deceit had been his undoing the first time around. He had promised to never lie to his father again, and Angel, with reservations, had done the same. Unfortunately this led to cute little conversations like these.

“Connor, you don’t have to tell me every time you sleep with another man. Frankly, it’s starting to add up and Dad is having a hard time with that.”

“You think I’m a little slut?” Connor grinned, eyes flashing mischievously.

“I didn’t say that. It’s just that ever since you discovered sex with men—”

“It’s like I want to try them all!”

“Well, yeah. And I don’t think that’s altogether necessary.”

“Somebody around here ought to be getting laid.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? You know why I don’t get involved with people.”

“I know. Your curse. And that sucks for you. But do not begrudge me, father. I am young and extremely good looking.”

“I’m just saying, maybe find somebody you actually like and keep them around for a while.”

“Do you know how hard that is to do with the kind of life we live?”

“Don’t I ever.”

“Which is why, if you had been listening to me, you would have understood why I am so excited. I _have_ found someone, Dad! We’ve already had sex seven times and I am not sick of him yet! Not at all. In fact I very much like him. And you like him too… at least you used to.”

“Oh dear god. It’s Spike, isn’t it?”

“Uncle Spike?”

“ _Uncle_ Spike now?”

“Gross. No, it’s not Uncle Spike, Dad. First of all he’s not dominating enough for me. I like a man who can conquer me! They are not easy to come by.”

“TMI!”

“Too bad. Also, I am not so into taking up with vampires. Usually I kill vampires. Not fuck them.”

“Glad to hear that one.”

“I thought you would be.  Also I am pretty sure that Spike has taken it up the ass from you.”

“Connor!”

“Sorry. But do you deny it?”

“No.”

“Exactly. This man has never taken it from you. He told me this, and I believe him. He’s a warrior. And extremely hot. I don’t know why I never noticed him before? Perhaps because I was being manipulated by the demon inside of Cordelia—“

“Are you going to tell me who this is?”

“I already told you! See, I knew you weren’t listening. Who were you thinking about just now? Was it Wesley? It was almost the wistful Wesley look, but not quite—”

“Enough of that. Stop trying to analyze my look. Now who is this man that you are seeing?”

The doors to the Hyperion opened and shut with a loud clang.

“Guess who’s coming to dinner?” said the tall black man in military fatigues.

“You’re here!” Called Connor excitedly, running across the foyer and grabbing the man’s hand with his.

“Dad, you remember Charles Gunn.”


	7. Supernatural

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam begins to regret pulling the truth out of Dean, as he now has to put up with "Denny" PDA. Also, they discuss possible motives behind the grizzly murders that Benny thinks were done by vampires.

As it turned out, Benny may just have been on to something. A woman had been found in her Wiccan shop with her heart ripped out of her chest. Benny met the brothers at their motel room in L.A. to fill them in on what he knew.

“It’s the second murder in the area with the same M.O.,” he said in his cool New Orleans drawl. “Some richie rich up in Bel Air got himself offed the same way last night,” he said. “I’ve never seen a human that could do that. If I had to guess, I’d say vamps.”

“So if it’s just a couple of vampires, can’t you take care of it?” Sam challenged him. Dean shot him a warning look. Benny kept his cool.

“Sure I could, but I think there’s more to it than that,” he replied easily. Dean looked smug, and pulled his thermal top off over his head. His FBI suit was laid out on the bed beside him.

“Of course there is,” Dean said, noticing Benny noticing him undressing with a pleased look on his face. Sam noticed it too, with much less pleasure.

“There was a very old spell book stolen from the rich man’s house. I don’t know what was in it, but allegedly some pretty ancient stuff. And there’s no proof about the witch, but rumor has it that she had her hands on a magic bean.”

Sam and Dean both stopped what they were doing and looked at each other.

“Did you just say “magic bean”?” Dean asked.

“I did.”

“Magic bean,” said Sam. “As in, Jack and the Giant.”

“So you’ve heard of them.”

“Oh come on! That’s fairy tale stuff Benny!” Dean said, flinging his undershirt onto the bed pointedly and throwing his arms up in disbelief. Benny gave him a wicked smile. Dean’s body was on point. Purgatory had kept him in mighty fine shape. His now completely bare pecks were well defined. His six pack abs flexed with indignation. Benny added a wink. Dean suppressed a smile, rubbing his mouth as though in thought. Sam rolled his eyes.

“Is this some kind of a joke?” Sam asked.

“Are vampires a joke? What about sirens? Why do you assume just because you haven’t learned about something yet it has to be bull shit?” Benny countered.

Sam and Dean exchanged looks again.

“I hate to admit it, but he has a point,” Sam relented. Dean nodded, grabbing his undershirt and pulling it over his head.

“I told you he’s good people.”

“Wait,” Sam said, looking at Dean with disbelief. “Did you seriously just take off that t-shirt and put it back on again?”

“Why would I do that?” Dean replied. “That would be stupid.”

Benny stifled a laugh, biting his lip and exchanging a look with Dean.

“Are you seriously flirting with him right now? Should I leave you two alone?”

“Might be a good idea for just a minute or two,” Benny said with an iniquitous smile.

“Shut up Benny. And no, Sam. Stop overreacting. I’m starting to believe all those _Wincest_ ers about your jealousy.”

“Did you seriously just go there?”

“Will you seriously stop saying seriously? Benny, what the fuck is a magic bean? Seriously.”

“Powerful lil bit of magic. I’ve heard tell they can open portholes to other dimensions. But you can manipulate them too. To do some pretty dark stuff.”

“So wait,” said Sam. “You’re saying that the Bean Stalk was like, a ladder to another world?”

“I don’t know if there was ever any fucking bean stalk,” said Benny. “But people make up stories about mysterious objects all the time. If the Jack story is based in truth, then yes. Little ladder to giant land I guess.”

“Wait, am I gonna have to kill a _giant_?” Dean asked, now pantless.

“Please don’t take your underwear off,” Sam said.

“Wouldn’t bother me any,” said Benny.

“You know, you ought to be changing too,” said Dean. “We have two crime scenes to investigate. But back to my giant—”

“It’s possible, said Benny. “But not likely. Like I said, this smelled like vamps to me, and I don’t see them liking giants any more that you would. My guess is that they want it for something else it can do—”

“Something described in the stolen book,” Sam interjected.

“I see why you keep him around,” said Benny.

“He’s a keeper,” Dean said, giving his wink to Sam.

“So we need to find out what’s in that book,” said Sam, grabbing his suit and darting into the bathroom.

“Your brother’s a little more modest than you are,” Benny said teasingly to Dean.

“Please. If you had been a hot female demon with dubious moral character he would have been naked in a heartbeat.”

“Is that so? Well, to each their own. I have to say, I did enjoy your little show.” Benny walked over to Dean now, circled his arms around him, and gave his supple ass a squeeze with both hands. Dean gave a sharp intake of pleasure and leaned into Benny’s embrace.

“Thanks for calling us in on this,” he said quietly, his lips mere inches from Benny’s ear.

“Would it make you uncomfortable if I told you I missed you?” Benny intoned.

“I would kick your ass if you told me you didn’t. We spent a hell of a lot of time together this past year. I’m having a few withdrawal symptoms myself.” They turned their faces together and kissed deeply. Dean dropped his hands to the waistband of Benny’s trousers, tugging at them playfully.

“Not enough time for that, unless you don’t care what little brother walks in on.”

“I know. It would serve him right though. The way he was acting about you.”

“Pissed you off, did he? Change of subject sugar. In fact, no talking at all,” and Benny’s mouth was on his again, kissing him ferociously.

“Oh… god. You’ve got to be kidding me,” came from the bathroom door. Dean swerved around to see Sam, predictably looking disgusted.

“Oh, hey there Sammy,” Dean said, leaning against Benny unabashedly, nuzzling at his neck. “In the past I would have kept the pda to a minimum, but seeing as you want to know all my truths now, I figured I’d make sure you got the whole big picture.” He grinned triumphantly. Sam looked pissed, but had nothing more to say.

“Are you ready to go? Is _he_ coming?”

“Yep. And sadly, no. Benny’s got his own stuff to do. Plus it’s daytime and he can’t hang around outside too good.”

“That’s a plus,” Sam muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”

“I said let’s get going,” Sam revised. “If we can put this thing to bed pretty quickly, maybe we can still grab Kevin in Michigan.”

“All right,” said Dean, turning to face Benny again. “Meet you back here tonight?”

“It’s a date.” They kissed once more on the mouth, and then Dean walked to the door, with Benny giving him a sweet smack on the ass on the way out.

“I just don’t see how you could go from Cas to that,” Sam said as they exited the motel room.

“Enough about Cas, Sam.”

“I know, you don’t want to talk about him. But now that we’ve come this far… I have a lot of questions.”

“Questions that will remain hanging in the air. Let’s go.”

Sam shook his head, but left it at that for now, following Dean to the Impala.


	8. Grimm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monroe tries to stake his territory, to humorous results. Later, Nick investigates a heartless murder in Portland, and Captain Renard arouses suspicion.

“Do you think that maybe you should get that?” Nick’s phone had buzzed three times now, insisting he break away from the lazy afterglow he was enjoying with Monroe.

“Damnit,” Nick grumbled, climbing across his new lover to grab at his pants which were half obscured underneath Monroe’s bed. He noted with delight how good it felt as Monroe’s hands roamed his body. He snatched up the pants and dug the vibrating phone out of one of the pockets. Hank. He did have to take it. He had been hoping it was Juliette and he could have blown it off. Who needed her now?

“Burkhardt.”

“Nick, finally! You’d better get down here. The Shattered Nightclub down on Fairborn Street. It’s ugly, man. Maybe Wesson ugly.”

“Murder?”

“Most definitely. I’ve never seen anything like it. Just… get here. Okay?”

“On my way.”

“Oh, you’re leaving?” Monroe said, sounding dangerously close to a wine.

“You told me to answer the phone,” Nick pointed out.

“Work?”

“Yeah. Hank. A murder down on Fairborn. Lovely way to cap off a fantastic afternoon.”

“I’m sorry you have to go. You want me to pack you a lunch or something?”

“Not necessary, but thank you. Pointing out what happened to my underwear could be helpful, though.”

“Lamp.”

“Aha.” Nick snatched the soft grey boxer briefs from the lampshade, and climbed into them. He was shaking out his pants to put them on too, when something warm and wet suddenly sprayed across his leg. He looked down, startled. Definitely something wet. He looked back at Monroe, the direction from where it came from. Monroe had a startled and somewhat guilty look on his face.

“Did you just— no you did not!” Nick said, aghast.

“Nick, I am _so sorry._ ”

“You just peed on me!”

“It was just sort of an impulse thing, it happened before I even realized it!”

“You sprayed me from across the room!”

“I—I did.”

“You’re _marking_ me? Like… your property?”

“It’s just—you were getting ready to leave, and Hank was going to be there—”

“You’ve got to be kidding me! Hank and I have been partners for years. If anything was going to happen there, it would have.”

“I’m _sorry_. The rational me knows that, of course. But it’s a Blutbad thing, Nick.”

“Well it sure as hell isn’t a Burkhardt thing,” Nick said firmly, heading into the bathroom to wipe off the offending fluid.

“Nick, don’t be mad at me,” Monroe said, following him to the bathroom and leaning in the doorway. He looked properly embarrassed by the whole thing.

“ _Never again._ ” Nick said. “Promise.”

“I’ll try—”

“No trying. _Never_ again.”

“Okay, okay. Never again. I promise.”

Nick turned to Monroe and appraised him, gauging the amount of contrition.

“Okay, I forgive you.”

Monroe looked visibly relieved.

“I’m flattered, that you feel so possessive of me already,” Nick said. “But I think you’ve claimed me enough for one day.”

Monroe grinned sheepishly. “Man, we were _hot_ Nick.”

“Yeah we were,” Nick said, grinning in spite of himself. “Now put that thing away before you do any more damage with it. Or I jump you again. I’ve got to go to work.”

 

*          *          *

 

Hank had not been kidding about the crime scene. The club owner was lying in a pool of his own blood, and his heart had been ripped right out of his chest.

“Have we found the heart?” Nick asked Wu, who was also on the scene.

“We found the heart first,” Wu said irreverently. “Lying on the asphalt just outside the front door. It’s been punctured, and drained of blood. Then just dumped, like… littered almost.”

“That’s weird,” said Nick, looking pointedly at Hank. The two of them got out of earshot of Wu in a hurry.

“Wesson?” Hank asked.

“Gotta be,” said Nick. “I don’t know what else could have done something like this.”

“Hey, what happened to you? You been fighting during your off hours again?”

“Huh?” Nick asked, unaware of what Hank was referring to.

“You’ve got a bruise on your cheek, and a scrape up there on your collar bone,” Hank said, pointing at the perceived ailments. Nick put his hand to his collarbone and definitely felt the scrape. He felt himself growing flush. Blutbad sex was wild, alright. Probably not necessary to tell Hank about that though.

“You know me, there’s always someone who wants to take a swing at me,” he said cryptically. Hank didn’t look convinced, but he let it go. He was used to hearing bad lies from Nick.  “So, do we have any witnesses at all?” Nick asked, eager to change the subject. But Hank wasn’t listening to him anymore. His attention had been drawn to the front door of the club.

“What the hell is the Captain doing here?” Hank asked. Nick looked up. Sure enough, Captain Renard was walking through the doors, his European leather shoes and two thousand dollar suit looking decidedly out of place in the dirty, blood spattered nightclub. He passed right by Wu and came straight to Hank and Nick, who were standing over the victim’s body.

“What do we know?” he asked Hank, and then suddenly, the captain did something very strange.  He curiously turned to look at Nick, and tilted his head to one side, like a dog questioning something only he can sense. Then—Nick couldn’t swear to it but he was almost sure of it—he _sniffed_ the air. Briefly, so briefly that after it was over Nick questioned what he thought he’d just seen. Then the Captain looked Nick up and down, eyes lingering on his cheek, then collarbone, and asked, “What happened to you?”

“Fell off a ladder,” Nick replied, thinking this was a better one than the line he’d given Hank. Of course now Hank knew for sure that Nick had given him a line, but whatever. Hank hadn’t believed him anyway. Nick could tell. Renard raised an eyebrow at him, and Nick wondered if the Captain doubted his story as much as Hank did. But that was crazy. What reason would Renard have to think he was lying? And yet for some reason that made no sense at all, Nick felt with a bizarre sense of certainty that Sean Renard _knew_ what the truth was. That he somehow knew that Nick had been having rough sex with a Wesson. _That’s impossible,_ he told himself. But he felt his face growing hot again.

“The vic is Rod Humphreys, and this is his nightclub,” Hank said, jerking Nick back to reality. “His heart appears to have been ripped from his chest; our guys found it dropped outside the door.” Renard winced at the details.

“Pretty horrific,” he said.

“What are you doing here Captain?” Nick asked Renard. “You don’t usually come down to check out our crime scenes.”

“You’re right Nick, I don’t,” Renard said. “But there have been two more similar cases in L.A., and so the FBI are on their way. I wanted to make sure you guys knew that we are cooperating with them fully. Unfortunately I won’t be here to greet them, so I want the two of you to act as liaison for the department.”

“Why won’t you be here?”

“I have personal business that cannot wait. I’ve got to be at the airport in thirty minutes, and I probably won’t be back for a couple of days.”

“Everything okay?” Nick asked, feeling suspicious for some reason. What reason did he have to be suspicious of the captain? He couldn’t explain it. This whole exchange was bizarre.

“Everything’s fine,” said Renard, and now it was Nick’s turn not to believe him.

“Anyway, when the profilers get here, play nice. They are not “taking away the case,” so to speak. They are actually here to help us.”

“You got it,” said Hank, looking a bit grumpy as any detective would who felt his case was being encroached on by the feds. But Hank was a team player.  Nick was more curious as to what had happened in the L.A. cases.

“Why do they think it’s the same guy in L.A.?” Nick asked.

“The same thing with the hearts,” said Renard. “Not exactly commonplace.”

“Not in the least,” said Nick. “Any chance of one of us flying down there to check things out?”

“No,” Renard said sharply. Nic looked visibly taken aback. It definitely seemed like the captain was hiding something. Even though it didn’t make any kind of sense. It made him even more curious about L.A. And if the feds were just going to take over here in Portland…  

“Okay then,” he said, passing for agreeably.

“Great,” said Renard. And then, as if he hadn’t been acting weird enough already, he did something really strange again. He took Nick’s face in his hand and gently touched his bruised cheek. “Be more careful,” he said to a completely baffled Nick. And without further ado, he was out the door and off to the airport. Hank started cracking up.

“Looks like the Captain has a crush on you,” he said.

“Shut up,” said Nick. But the feel of Renard’s hand on his cheek lingered.


	9. Criminal Minds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reid and Morgan make a winning team at a crime scene.

By the time Reid and Morgan got to the art dealer’s house, the body had been removed. The blood splatter was abundant, however, and the cops on hand were only too eager to regale what they had initially found.

“Just a big ass hole in his chest,” said Officer Johnny Cox, a young cop with black curly hair, green eyes, and a winning scowl. “He was here, in the library,” he said, walking them into the handsome room with shelves upon shelves of beautiful books and comfortable brocade chairs perfect for reading them.

“I think I could live in this room,” Reid breathed.

“You and me both,” said Morgan. “Wanna play house?” It was when he said things like that that Reid’s crush on him deepened. Not the flirtatious joke (well, that was nice too), but the fact that a guy like Morgan could spend hours reading in a place like this. That he _got it._ It’s what set him apart from every other jockish, tough agent in the bureau.

“Any signs of a break in?” asked Morgan.

“Oh most definitely. The door chain was busted. Like Carlson had opened it for the perp, but didn’t want to let him in.”

“Surely a place like this has security cameras,” said Reid.

“Only on the outside, and they seem to have malfunctioned. A bunch of static is all we got.”

“Do you think they had been tampered with?”

“No sign of hackers, according to our IT guys. Possibly some kind of interfering signal, or maybe just dumb luck.”

“I don’t get it,” said Reid.

“What do you mean?” asked Morgan.

“Where’s the heart?” asked Reid.

“We haven’t found the heart,” offered Officer Cox.

“It wasn’t anywhere at the scene?” Morgan asked, sounding as surprised as Reid felt.

“Nope. Freak must have taken it with him.

“See, that’s what’s not making sense to me,” said Reid. “A crime like this, the heart ought to be important. It’s the unsub’s signature; he killed all three victims the same way.”

“Yeah,” said Officer Cox. “And this poor shmuck’s heart was taken too.”

“Yeah but there’s no consistency,” said Reid. “In Portland the heart was dropped outside the nightclub door. In the Wiccan shop, it was left on the victims’ chest. Yet here, it appears the unsub took it with him.”

“If it was a trophy,’ said Morgan, “he should have taken all of them.”

“Exactly.”

“If it was part of the ritual, the hearts should have all been left the same way,” said Morgan.

“And yet each one of them is treated as almost an afterthought,” said Reid. “It just doesn’t measure up to any of the standard profiles.”

“Okay maybe we’re looking at this wrong. Maybe the heart isn’t the important thing. Maybe the removal of the heart is what matters,” Morgan guessed.

“That’s another thing that doesn’t make sense. How in the hell is he pulling this off?” Reid wondered.

“Maybe some kind of a machine?” Morgan speculated.

“Holes are too ragged,” Reid countered.

“Yeah, you’re right. From the photos it honestly looks like they were ripped out by hand.”

“Maybe Mola Ram isn’t out of the question after all.”

“Did you just make a joke?”

“Kind of. But I’m very close to hypothesizing that a human being actually reached into somebody’s chest and pulled their heart out.”

“People on PCP have been known to have excessive strength. The unsub could be on drugs. The damage to the house suggests it, and the sloppiness of the murder.”

“Yeah but even if they were able to pull it off once, in the throes of the drug, they would have broken nearly every bone in their hand. No way they’d be able to do it for two more consecutive murders.”

They looked at each other for a beat.

“Unless…” Reid began.

“Prosthetic hand,” Reid and Morgan said in unison.

“A realistic enough prosthetic could mimic the damage of an actual human hand,” said Reid excitedly.

“And yet be strong enough to pull it off without any damage to the unsub,” Morgan continued. “He could have even had it specially made to do this kind of damage.”

“Call Garcia. Tell her to look for twenty five to thirty five year old males in the L.A. area with custom made high end prosthetic hands.”

“I’m on it.”

Reid’s heart was pounding. When he and Derek got on a roll like that, it felt so _good._ They made such a good team. And this could prove to be a real breakthrough.

“Garcia’s on it,” Morgan said, clapping a strong hand on Reid’s shoulder. “Hey,” he said in Reid’s ear, sending a little thrill down his spine. “What’s that about?”

“What’s what about?” Reid replied dreamily, looking in the direction to which Morgan referred. Two men in suits were showing FBI badges to the officer’s on the scene.

“I didn’t hear there’d be anyone else from the bureau on this,” Reid said suspiciously.

“If those guys are FBI, then I spend my Saturday nights playing world of warcraft in my mother’s basement,” said Morgan.

“I don’t know, I could see it,” Reid teased flirtatiously.

“Funny,” said Morgan. “Maybe you could teach me.”

“I actually do not have time to indulge in such classic egghead behavior, thank you very much,” Reid said. “Now what do you say we roll on these charlatans?”

“Let’s roll baby.”

_Baby._ _Baby was much better than kid_ , Reid thought. _Oh yeah, baby. Let’s roll._


	10. Vampire Diaries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elena tries to figure out Damon's plans, but he gives her the smack down.

“What are you up to Damon?” Elena’s brown eyes flashed as she placed herself right in his way, blocking his path to the door.

“I don’t really see how it is of any interest to you,” Damon replied maddeningly. 

“It matters to me because I care about you—”

“—just not the way you care about Stefan—”

“—no, but in an equally, valid way. Also, Klaus is still in town, Connor Jordan is unaccounted for, and I’m worried about Jeremy.”

“So, just another day at the Creek then, eh Joey?” Damon snarked. “Look, you’re the one who picked Dawson. If he doesn’t make you feel safe, that’s on you.”

“So you’re just going to take off to god knows where, and desert your friends.”

“Pretty much. Except for the friends part. The only friend I had is dead.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that this sudden little road trip has nothing to do with me and Stefan.” At this, Damon finally looked angry.

“I don’t care what you believe,”’ he spat at her. “But there is something that I get that neither one of you is willing to. You are a vampire now, Elena. And while my dear little brother wants to cling to the hope of some kind of mythical “cure” I know that it’s not going to happen. And I know that it is your humanity that Stefan loves the most, so it’s only a matter of time before he can’t handle what you are anymore, and trades you in for some prettier, younger, more _human_ model with fresh hope in her eyes. You and I are going to be around for a mighty long time, so I can wait it out. I’ll have my turn with you eventually. If not this century, then the next one.”  Elena closed her shocked, gaping mouth and slapped Damon across the face, hard. She could do more damage now that she was a vampire. Damon grabbed his face at the pain, but looked pleased at the nerve he’d struck.

“How dare you,” Elena hissed.

“I don’t know,” Damon said. “I just dare. Every. Single. Time.” He winked at her. “Now get out of my way before I move you myself. I would never hit a girl. But I would _definitely_ hit a vampiress.” Elena shot daggers at him, but moved out of his way.

“I don’t know why you have to be like this,” Elena said. “I don’t know why we can’t be friends.”

“Because I don’t want to be your _friend_ Elena,” Damon said, brushing past her. “I already told you, I had just one friend, and I lost him.”

“Alaric,” Elena said wistfully. “I miss him too, you know.” Damon shrugged and headed off, away from her.

“Sure you miss him too,” he said under his breath. “But I’m the only one willing to do something about it.”


	11. Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel reluctantly reunites with Gunn, and learns about the heartless murders.

Awkward wasn’t strong enough a word. It had been years since Angel had seen Gunn, despite standing shoulder to shoulder with him in one of the biggest battles for human existence of their entire lives. He had made sure to find out whether his former comrade had lived or died, and had heard that he had made it; just barely. After that, Angel had simply moved on, filing Charles Gunn into the category of painful Angel Investigations memories. Gunn had done nothing to try and contact Angel either, as far as he could tell. It wasn’t as if he was hiding. He had returned to the Hyperion. He still got his blood from the same butcher. He figured that Gunn didn’t want to dredge up the old hurt anymore than he did.

But if that was true, why the hell was Charles Gunn buggering his son?

“Damn, long time no see, boss,” Gunn said. He dropped Connor’s hand so that he could extend his right to Angel. Angel took it. Gave it a firm shake. Extra firm, not _quite_ going for the crush, but… wait, something was weird. Gun gave the pressure back just as strong. Stronger, even. _Hey…_

“Ouch,” Angel couldn’t help saying, pulling his hand away quickly and scowling at Gunn. “Quite a grip there, Charles.”

“Are you guys trying to out-intimidate each other?” Connor asked. “That’s silly. And a bad idea for you Dad. Gunn’s hand is not human.”

“Not human?”

“Got a bit of the robotics these days,” Gunn replied. “It was the only way to patch me up after the last battle we fought.”

“I knew you were pretty worse for wear,” Angel said. “But I didn’t know Cedars Sinai had a robotics department.”

“They don’t. I was all but dead, on life support. Then my case caught the eye of a government division that was looking for test subjects. Turns out they had even heard of me; had a file on me. I became one of their little experiments. Lucky for me, I guess.”

“So how much… I mean, is it just your hand?”

“Oh no,” said Connor, a little too excitedly.

“Right arm, left leg, some stuff in the middle,” Gunn said. Connor started giggling ferociously. “Chill, boo,” Gunn said to him, giving him a playful nudge. We’re talking to your pops.”

“Right,” said Connor, grinning. “You do not want the details,” he said to Angel.

“I’ll pass,” said Angel uncomfortably.

“My head is mine,” said Gunn.

“But not your one eye!” Connor reminded him.

“I guess I meant my brain,” corrected Gunn. “My brain, my heart. The rest is mix and match. But I’ve had almost no health problems for the better part of eight years, so go Initiative.”

“Wait, did you say Initiative? As in that crazy Dr. Walsh and her frankensoldier that Buffy dealt with a few years back?”

“ _Several_ years back,” revised Gunn. “Dr. Walsh’s project has nothing to do with the division anymore. It’s not about her freak-ass agenda. It’s about killing vamps and demons; keeping the streets safe. I can get behind that.”

“You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“Is _he_ still there?”

“Are you referring to your ex’s ex? Then yeah, Riley Finn in my superior officer. He heads up my squad. He’s good people, Angel.” Angel harrumphed.

“I need to eat,” Angel said grumpily.

“Let’s go into the kitchen,” suggested Connor. “Much more cozy in there for talking and catching up.”

“We have more talking to do?” asked Angel glumly.

“Actually I wanted to see you for a reason, and it wasn’t to tell you about me and Connor.”

“That was _my_ reason,” said Connor helpfully.

“Are we talking case?” asked Angel, perking up ever so slightly.

“Yeah. There’s a pretty bad one that we can’t get our head around. Some new big bad’s come to town, and we can’t figure out who or what it is.”

“ _That_ I can talk about,” said Angel.

In the kitchen, Connor heated up his dad’s otter blood in the microwave, as well as fixing a couple of roast beef sandwiches for himself and Gunn. Angel and Gunn sat across from each other at the large kitchen table.

“Somebody’s ripping out people’s hearts, while the people are still alive,” Gunn informed him. There’s been a witch and a demon so far, but also a completely human rich guy. We think whoever is doing this is stealing magical objects from these people, objects that might lead to something big. We just don’t know what.”

Angel had an odd albeit very brief moment of déjà vu. Ha he talked about this before with somebody? No, that wasn’t it. Why did the heart ripping sound so familiar?

“The Initiative is worried that this monster is planning for some big Apocalypsy type attack,” said Connor.

“Yeah, especially because of the book,” said Gunn.

“What book?”

“The human victim had an ancient druid book of spells designed for only the most powerful of sorcerers,” said Gunn. “We’ve known he had it for a while, and actually were trying to find a way to get or hands on it, just to keep something like this from happening.”

“So what could someone do with these spells?” Asked Angel.

“There’s a lot of stuff in there about controlling the elements, manipulating time. That kind of bullshit,” said Gunn. “In the wrong hands, some really badass sorcerer could totally Dr. Evil our entire world. They could take control of it.”

“And why the hell is this book just hanging out on a minimum security bookshelf?”

“I know. But we’re beyond the finger pointing now. We have got to figure out who took it, so that we can get it back.”

“And we have no clue.”

Gun shook his head. “Not really.”

“Well it’s your lucky day. Cause I might.”

Gun looked excited. “I was hoping you were gonna say that,” he said. “Who?”

“I’ve got two words for you,” said Angel. “Mystic Falls.”


	12. Convergence: Mr. Carlson's Mansion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean struggle for crime scene dominance against Morgan and Reid.

“Agents Tyler and Perry, FBI,” Dean said in his _I mean business; don’t bother to question it_ voice.

“Tyler and Perry? Like the Madea guy! That’s weird,” said the cocky young cop whom Dean had kind of been giving the eye before he said the absolute _wrong_ thing.

“Madea? No! Don’t you know anything about rock and roll?” Dean challenged him incredulously.

“Huh?” asked the guy, confused.

“Somebody skipped their wheaties this morning,” Sam said quickly, hoping to diffuse the situation. He leaned in and whispered in Dean’s ear, “ _are you seriously going to argue with him over the origin of our phony aliases?”_

Dean scowled but let it go.

“Moving on,” Dean said, as though the cop was extremely immature and they would have to overlook that. “Where was the body found?”

“Right there in the library, where your friends are right now.”

“Our friends?” Sam asked a little too quickly.

“Yeah, the two feds that got here just a few minutes ago. You guys are with them, right?

“Oh fuck me,” said Dean under his breath.

Normally, the Winchester brothers waited until all the legitimate officers had left the scene. Of course normally, their cases didn’t bring out the federal agents.

“Let’s get out of here,” Dean whispered to Sam.

“Too late,” Sam whispered back. “They’ve made us. Just be cool. This has happened once before. We got through.”

“Yeah but we had Bobby.”

“We are so screwed.”

“Okay just… follow my lead,” Dean ordered.

Sam and Dean placed the fakey bureau smiles on their faces as best they could and turned to greet the two “fellow” agents. These guys didn’t really look like FBI either in Dean’s opinion. One of them looked like a Starbucks barista with an oversized pistol, and the other one looked like a star New York Yankee… or possibly a TV cop.

“Agents, did we get our wires crossed? I wasn’t aware we were sharing our crime scene with anybody,” Dean said, trying to claim the authority of the situation. Hopefully Sam wouldn’t muck it up. Sometimes Sammy wasn’t nearly as good a liar as Dean was.

“We’re actually profilers out of Quantico,” said the barista looking one. He was tall and skinny, with long hair that had no idea what to do with itself. He was actually quite cute in a nerdy damsel in distress sort of way, Dean thought. More up Sam’s alley than his though. If Dean was going to have his pick of the one to share a cheap motel with, it would be the biracial All-Star: shaved head, caramel complexion, solid muscle, pure alpha male. He wondered vaguely if they were fucking each other. He could see it. It could be hot.

“I’m SSA Derek Morgan, and this is Doctor Spencer Reid,” the hot Yankee introduced, offering first Dean, then Sam his hand. Dr. Reid didn’t appear to be into handshakes.

“I’m Agent Tyler, this is Agent Perry out of the Wilmington branch,” Dean replied.

“Tyler and Perry? Like from the Madea movies?” Asked SSA Morgan with a laugh.  Dean started to get irate, but Sam grabbed his arm to quiet him and intervened.

“Funny coincidence, huh?” said Sam. “If we had a dollar for how many times people notice that.” Sam chuckled and shook his head as if to say: _what are you gonna do?_

“Actually it reminded me of the lead singer and lead guitarist from the rock band Aerosmith,” said Dr. Reid. “You know you could probably avoid all comparisons by introducing yourself in the opposite positions, i.e. Agents Perry and Tyler.”

“Thank you! Finally somebody!” said Dean, to no one in particular.

“Or they could introduce themselves using their real names,” said SSA Morgan. “Whatever they are I’m sure couldn’t have such major pop culture connotations.”

“Very good point, Morgan,” replied Dr. Reid.

“Excuse me?” Asked Sam.

“Look, we don’t know who you guys are, but you sure as hell aren’t federal agents,” Morgan said. “Now you’ve got two choices. You can either come clean and tell us right now why you’re impersonating FBI, or we can arrest you and you can tell us down at the station.”

“Maybe they’re female body inspectors,” Reid said with a grin.

“Not the pretty one,” said Morgan. “We’d have already made a date if he wasn’t breaking the law.” Reid felt a sudden surge of hatred for “Agent Tyler.” Especially when “Agent Tyler’s” reply was a flirtatious one eyebrow raise directed at Morgan. Whore!

“If you don’t believe us, call our director,” Dean said, pulling out his wallet to secure a business card, and hoping that Garth would answer the phone, and get it right. He hadn’t really been tested.

“Actually, it would be really easy to fake something like that,” said Dr. Reid, the really smart one who was starting to get on Dean’s nerves.

“I’ll call our computer wiz and have her check your credentials real quick,” said Morgan. “Out of Wilmington, you said? As in North Carolina?” he was pulling out his phone.

“Okay, wait just a minute,” said Sam. “You guys are right. We’re not FBI.”

“ _We’re not_?” Dean scathed at him. “You going off book without me here?”

“The jig is up,” Sam said, and as much as he hated it, Dean knew he was right. But he also knew that jail was the last thing they needed right now.

“Great,” said Morgan. “So you guys gonna tell us who you really are, and why we shouldn’t arrest you?”

“Sammy? Are we going to tell them that?” Dean prodded.

“Yes, yes we are,” said Sam, sounding a bit unsure, but nonetheless going forward. “But can we talk somewhere less… crime sceney?”

“We’re on kind of a tight schedule here,” said Dr. Reid.

“Don’t you eat?” asked Dean.

“Only when the case is over,” said Morgan.

“Well for you guys, the case _is_ over,” said Dean. “Join us for a burger, and we’ll explain why.”

Reid and Morgan exchanged glances.

“I say we follow our instincts,” said Morgan. “And my gut is telling me to see what these guys know.”

“I’m not so sure that’s your gut, Morgan. Maybe something a little more south of that organ,” Reid snarked. But then Sam looked Reid in the eyes with that unbridled serious intensity mixed with a hint of puppy dog begging that almost no human could resist.

“Please,” Sam implored him. “We really only want to help.”

“I haven’t had a burger in a while,” Reid gave in. “But let’s just keep this between us for right now,” he added to Morgan.

“It’s like we’re sharing a brain,” Morgan said to Reid, patting his back and giving Reid’s neck a little one handed rub. His hands just had to _belong_ there. But how the hell was Reid supposed to make Morgan get that? That was a puzzle for another day. Right now they had to figure out these rogue agents. Reid had a feeling that many lives depended on it.


	13. Convergence: Diner Encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While spying on Captain Renard, Nick and Monroe overhear a bizarre conversation about FBI Agents and Vampires. The Winchesters try to convince the profilers that the supernatural exists, and Damon sees Renard for the first time in twenty years.

Nick couldn’t believe that Monroe had insisted on coming with him to stalk Captain Renard.

“I usually have to force you to help me,” Nick said to Monroe as they left the Los Angeles airport. Nick had obtained some of the captain’s itinerary from his receptionist’s computer. He knew he was flying to Los Angeles and staying at the Roosevelt Hotel in Hollywood. What he expected to find on this little adventure, Nick didn’t know. He just felt like Renard was hiding something major, and that whatever he knew might matter in some big way. He was following an unclear hunch, which was why he hadn’t asked Hank or anyone else to come with him. But Monroe had insisted.

“I don’t know what in the world you’re going to get yourself into down here,” Monroe offered as some kind of vague explanation. “But you often wind up needing my help you know.”

“And you’re sure this is not your way of metaphorically peeing on me again?” Nick countered.

“Nick, no way. Look, I said I was sorry about that. But you’ve got to understand, I do care about you a little more now that we’ve…. Well now that we’ve crossed the whole “just friends” threshold.”

Nick smiled up at Monroe.

“I care about you more too,” he said. “But I just don’t want you to forget that I can take care of myself.”

“You don’t have to remind me of that,” Monroe sad. “You’re a Grimm, you are like Count Dracula and Frankenstein rolled into one. And nobody worries about those guys.”

Nick nodded approvingly.

“But it doesn’t mean their lovers wouldn’t want to be there if they knew they were heading into dangerous waters,” Monroe added.

“Fine,” said Nick. “Just remember this is my case, so you have to follow my lead.”

“Hey, you can be the boss, baby.”

Nick smiled satisfactorily at that.

“You know there is one thing that’s pretty cool about you coming along,” Nick said leadingly.

“Oh yeah, and what’s that?”

“Nobody in Los Angeles knows who we are,” Nick replied, and leaning up and kissing Monroe on the mouth for emphasis.

“Hmm, that _is_ pretty cool,” Monroe agreed between kisses. A sudden beeping from Nick’s pocket interrupted their moment of bliss.

“It’s Renard,” said Nick.

“He’s calling you?”

“No, he’s on the move. I hacked his phone’s lo jack so I could find him once we got here.”

“You know how to do that?” Monroe asked, looking impressed.

“ I Googled it,” Nick replied with a wink. “Come on, let’s go.”

They followed the GPS to a diner near the La Brea tar pits.

“I always wanted to see those,” Nick said as they passed by.

“Why, Nick? They smell so bad.”

“Yeah, but they’re still cool, right? And kind of romantic?”

“You obviously don’t have a Blutbaden sense of smell.”

“Whatever. Can we come by and see them though, when this is all over?”

“Will I get laid for doing this?”

“Most definitely.”

“Then you’ve got a deal.”

They pulled into the parking lot at the diner, but Nick hesitated before getting out of the car.

“What’s wrong now?” Monroe queried.

“I don’t want the Captain to see me. He’ll know I followed him. He’ll want to know why.”

“Do you even know why?”

“Not really. Just… I think he’s up to something. Maybe it has to do with this case.”

“Right. Well, don’t worry. Look, there’s a souvenir shop right next door. We’ll get you a ball cap and some dark glasses. He’ll never expect to see you in here, so he won’t recognize you if you keep your distance and you’re head down.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I’m right. Trust me.”

After procuring his slight disguise, Nick and Monroe entered the diner. Nick spotted Renard immediately. He was sitting alone at the counter making small talk with the server. Grateful for the “seat yourself” sign at the front of the room, Nick and Monroe quickly ducked into a booth that was hopefully within earshot of the captain, should he meet up with anyone important. Nick realized it was entirely possible that he was just eating here.

As Monroe quizzed the waitress about the diner’s vegetarian offerings, Nick scrutinized Renard from his seat. The captain was dressed down for him, meaning no two thousand dollar suit. He wore jeans (believe it or not), a cool black leather coat, and some pretty damn expensive sunglasses. Nick found himself wondering, not for the first time, where the captain made all his money. Sure his job with the police office was a good one, but three hundred dollar sunglasses good? Custom Italian leather boots good? Jaguar XJ good? There were rumors around the precinct that the captain’s family had amassed some sort of fortune that rendered his paltry pay from the city chump change to him, but Nick didn’t know what was true. He was noticing that Renard was looking at his phone an awful lot when a conversation from an adjacent booth suddenly took his attention.

“What we are trying to tell you and your federal bureau of idiots friend here, is that there are things in this world that are so far outside of your bureau’s realm of belief that if you were faced with them you would run home screaming to mommy,” said a low, gruff voice belonging to someone on the other side of the booth’s wall, where Nick could not see. The voice continued. “This is such a case. There are monsters involved here. Real monsters, not the kind you can put in your little profiler’s boxes.”

Nick looked at Monroe, their eyes widening in unison. The conversation continued.

“You know you sound downright crazy right now?” said another male voice.

“It sounds crazy, but it’s the truth,” said a third voice. “We have legitimate reason to believe that you’re trying to profile a vampire.”

“And a damn psychotic vampire at that,” added the first voice.

Nick leaned in towards Monroe so he could talk privately in a dropped voice.

“ _Are you hearing this?”_

_“I am, but I don’t get it… did that guy say vampire?”_

_“He did. Do vampires exist?”_

_“Your guess is as good as mine. I’ve never met one, but I have heard the rumors. Who are these guys?_

_“I don’t know… Federal Bureau of Idiots… sounds like FBI, maybe?”_

_“FBI meeting with who?”_

_“I don’t know. He talks like a Grimm. But you don’t think—”_

_“—nah. More likely vampire hunters. If those things actually exist.”_

_“These guys seem to think they do.”_

_“Half of them anyway.”_

_“What should we do?”_

_“Umm…_ do _?”_

_“Should I say something?”_

_“I don’t really see why. It’s not our conversation, Nick.”_

_“But they might be talking about our case.”_

_“I thought our case was Captain Renard.”_

_“Yeah, but he might be mixed in with the Thief of Hearts Killer.”_

_“Is that what they’re calling him? That’s pretty cool. In a completely unacceptable way, mind you.”_

_“Yeah, whatever. I just think we might all be able to help each other. I assumed that these were Wesson murderers… but maybe these guys know something I don’t.”_

_“And maybe they’re about to get arrested by the feds, Nick. You don’t want to go through that again.”_

_“So you’re saying to do nothing.”_

_“I’m saying to stick to the plan and follow the captain.”_

Nick thought about it for a minute.

_“Nope. I definitely have to address this situation.”_

_“Oh, Nick! What are you going to do, just stand up and ask these guys if they think vampires have killed these three people?”_

_“I actually thought maybe you would join the conversation first. I don’t want to call too much attention to myself.”_

_“You have got to be kidding me.”_

_“You said you cared about me even more now that I let you fuck me.”_

_“Oh, so not fair.”_

_“Just tell them you overheard them… and you think the pro vampire guys might have a point. And ask them if they’ve considered a Wesson could be behind it.”_

_“I am not bringing up Wesson to a couple of vampire hunters! They will probably try to kill me!”_

_“If they aren’t Grimms, they won’t know you are a Blutbad. Come on, we’re running out of time.”_

*          *          *

- _Meanwhile, on the other side of the booth_ -

 

Dean ordered bacon on his burger, because he was pretty sure they could stick the feds with the bill. He felt pretty good about having gotten them to go along with him and Sam thus far, but convincing them that the bogeyman was real was going to be a challenge. That Dr. Reid seemed like a real science type- and they always wanted proof for everything. And Agent Morgan (Fucking hot as hell Agent Morgan) seemed like the stubborn type, so if he didn’t know about it already, it was going to take hell or high water to convince him otherwise. Dean got why Sam thought this was their best option, but personally, he would have opted to try their luck at running. The clock was ticking, and they still didn’t know exactly what they were up against. He looked at his phone for any word from Benny, but nothing as of yet.

“You guys have the floor,” said Morgan. His face was already set in mild disbelief. He drank his black coffee as though the coffee had it coming. He exchanged glances with Reid that said: _this ought to be good_.

“Sam? You want to give it a go?” said Dean looking unconvinced by this set up; trying to out attitude Morgan.

“Okay,” said Sam, refusing to join in on the machismo contest. “Dean and I aren’t FBI, as we’ve already established. We’re actually brothers—”

“—wait, you guys are _brothers_?” Morgan interrupted, exchanging a smirk with Reid.

“Yeah, so. What’s so funny?”

“We actually profiled you as lovers, what with the absence of familial similarities,” Reid said. “But brother’s works. I can see brothers.”

“Let me guess,” said Morgan, “Dean takes after your mother?”

“If you knew my mother, you’d know that’s nothing but a compliment,” Dean spat back at him.

“Oh I meant it as one,” Morgan replied with a wink.

“Look, whatever,” said Sam. “Not the first time we’ve heard that mistake. The more important fact here isn’t that we’re brothers. It’s that we’re hunters.”

“As in Mossy Oak and florescent orange?” Morgan asked.

“As in things that go bump in the night, the monster in your closet, and vindictive poltergeists,” Dean countered.

“You guys are vigilantes,” said Reid.

“Only because there is no officiated government acknowledgement of the kind of monsters we hunt.”

“You know I’ve heard a lot of stories from delusional psychotics, but this one is on a whole other level,” said Morgan, shaking his head.

“I’m trying to gauge whether you both actually believe this, or if you’re laying groundwork for an insanity plea because of your involvement with the case,” said Reid.

“What we are trying to tell you and your federal bureau of idiots friend here,” Dean growled, jerking a thumb in Morgan’s direction for emphasis, “is that there are things in this world that are so far outside of your bureau’s realm of belief that if you were faced with them you would run home screaming to mommy.” He was on the verge of getting really pissed off. This was why you didn’t involve suits with hunting.  “This is such a case,” he continued. He was looking at Morgan now, because although Reid seemed less stubborn, he was also more inclined to depend on scientific fact to change his mind. Dean was hoping to possibly appeal to Morgan’s gut instinct. “There are monsters involved here. Real monsters, not the kind you can put in your little profiler’s boxes.”

 “You know you sound downright crazy right now?” Morgan replied. But Dean was almost sure he saw something stir in the back of his eyes. Something that couldn’t explain why he was still listening.

“It sounds crazy, but it’s the truth,” said Sam. “We have legitimate reason to believe that you’re trying to profile a vampire.”

_Dammit Sammy!_ With the word vampire, Dean could see what ground he might have gained with Morgan becoming shaky at best _._ Not how Dean would have played it, but it was done now. Better to back him up, act as if everyone in the world ought to believe in vampires.

“And a damn psychotic vampire at that,” Dean added.

“This conversation brings to mind the nineteenth century French psychiatrists Charles Lasègue and Jean-Pierre Falret, who first conceptualized the idea of the psychiatric syndrome _folie à deux._  Ever heard of it?” piped Reid. Dean thought this guy was always sounding like a first year professor in a lecture hall. His intellectual arrogance really pissed Dean off. Who the fuck had ever heard of these people? Was he speaking French just now?

“I’m afraid not,” Dean answered flatly. “But I’m sure you’d love to tell us.”

“The madness of two,” said Morgan.

_Show off,_ thought Dean.

“Exactly right, agent Morgan,” said Reid, sounding delighted. It was so obvious that he was crushing on his partner. Dean wasn’t sure if it went both ways or not. He was losing patience with them both, though.

“We’re not crazy,” Dean said simply.  “You see Sammy, I told you talking to them was a bad idea.”

“Dean and I are not under some shared delusion,” Sam insisted. “We have fought tooth and nail to protect the innocent, just like you do. We just grab the bad guys that are out of your jurisdiction.”

“Reid, add “delusions of grandeur” to the profile,” Morgan said loftily.

“Oh most definitely,” Reid agreed.

“I can see this is some kind of a joke to you guys, so I think it’s time Sam and I got the hell out of here. Sorry we played with your badges. It won’t happen again.” Dean started to stand, and looked to Sam to come with. But Sam wasn’t looking at any of them. He was staring at a couple of men at the counter, and he looked just a little spooked.

“What is it?” Dean asked Sam immediately.

“That man over there… I don’t think he’s a man at all,” Sam said slowly.

“What did you see?” asked Dean.

“I’m not sure, it was really brief. But for a split second there, it looked like his face was transformed… I don’t know to what exactly… but it was something pretty ugly.”

“The sexy pale one? Could be a vamp. Except that it’s still daylight for at least an hour.”

“No, the other one.”

“He looks completely normal to me,” said Dean.

“I know. To me too. It’s just that for a second—”

“—excuse me, guys?” The intruding voice came from a tall, bearded man from the other side of the booth. He had wide, startled eyes but a pleasant enough face. All four men in the booth looked at him. “I couldn’t help but overhear a little of your conversation, and I thought that maybe I could be of some… assistance to you?” It was said as a question. This guy seemed really unsure about what he was doing at the moment.

“Help us how?” asked Dean and Morgan at once. Then they looked reproachfully at each other for stealing each other’s line.

“Well, I um… I may have some insight into the world of uh, _real monsters_ as you put it?”

“Are you a hunter?” asked Sam.

“Well… not _exactly_ …” he turned and looked down into his booth. “I really think they’ll listen to you better than they’ll listen to me,” he said to his invisible friend. He looked back at them. “My friend Nick is a hunter, though. He can vouch for the existence of monsters.” Nick stood up then, giving a little unsure smile to the other four.

“Who’s this now?” asked Dean. “He doesn’t look like a hunter. He’s way too pretty.”

“Um, pot meet kettle?” said Sam.

“Yeah, but I’m a rough and tough kind of pretty. With the scars and the giant chip on my shoulder. He’s like a Tommy Hilfiger model.”

“I hardly think that’s true,” said Nick.

“I don’t know, Nick. I could see you playing rugby with the Kennedys,” said Monroe helpfully.

“This argument is as ridiculous as it is irrelevant,” said Morgan.

“Feeling left out Agent Pretty? No worries. Your prettiness is understood,” said Dean. Morgan ignored him.

“Does one of you know something about this case?” Morgan continued.

“Maybe,” said Nick. He extended his hand to Agent Morgan. “Detective Nick Burkhardt, Portland PD,” he said. As he introduced himself, Sam noticed that the man at the counter whom he had been noticing turned around and looked extremely startled; it was obvious he recognized the Portland detective, and was very surprised to see him. He looked sternly from Nick to his companion, then said something rapidly to the pale man in the black leather jacket.

“Portland,” said Reid. “That was the scene of the first murder.”

“Yeah, and I was the detective on the case. That is, until the FBI took it over.”

“If you’re talking about Blake and Rossi, they don’t so much as take over as they work with the locals to try and catch the unsub. They’re part of my team,” Reid informed him.

“Sure, okay,” said Nick. I’m more interested in finding out what these guys know about it.” He turned to Sam and Dean. “You don’t think the killer is human.”

“Pretty damn sure they’re not,” said Dean. “Just trying to inform them that they’re out of their league.

“Dean, he’s leaving,” Sam said, pointing as the two men from the counter were heading for the door.”

“Shit,” said Nick. “You think he saw me?” he asked Monroe.

“Entirely possible,” Monroe replied.

“Shit,” said Nick again.

“You know that guy?” asked Sam.

“Yeah. He’s police captain of the Portland PD. Also known as my boss.”

“Do you know why he’s in Los Angeles?” Sam continued.

“No. That’s why I’m in Los Angeles. To figure him out.”

“Well you just figured him right out the door,” Dean said.

“Not worried about it,” Nick said assuredly. I can find him again when I need to.”

“Nobody’s finding anyone, until we get some real answers here,” Morgan insisted. “Now these guys going off about creatures of the night is one thing, but a random cop from Portland backing them up? What the hell is going on?”

“I think you’re just going to have to trust us, Agent Morgan,” said Nick.

“Try again,” said Morgan. “And make it better this time.”

 

- _meanwhile, at the diner’s counter-_

 

When Damon walked into the diner to meet Sean, he got a jolt of surprise that he hadn’t had in a while. It was something only the immortals could really relate to. When he’d last seen Sean Renard, he had been an eighteen year old kid, gawky in his new height, nose too big for his face, but still with the swagger of a kid that knew he was born for great things. Now he was in his late thirties, fully grown in to his six feet and four inches, and every bit the man he had assumed he would be. While Damon had stayed in one place, Sean had caught up, and now even surpassed him. Sean looked a little surprised as well, but he recognized Damon immediately.

“Long time,” he said, gesturing to the seat beside him.

“I’ll say,” said Damon. “So bastardized Hexenbiests age, apparently,” Damon said, teasing him.

“On me, I think it’s an improvement,” Sean replied smoothly.

“Can’t argue with that one,” said Damon. “Still looking for the magic, I see?”

“Oh yeah. I never stopped. I must admit, I wondered if it would still be something you were after.”

“Well, not for the same reason,” Damon replied. “I’ve gotten over the girl. But I have other wishes I’d like granted by a magic porthole. I need to get someone back from the dead.”

“That’s a hard bit of magic, even if we have the bean.”

“You don’t judge my motives, I don’t judge yours. That’s the deal we made.”

“I remember.”

“So what about you? Are you still trying to get back at your family?”

“That’s always going to be part of it. I have many ambitions these days,” Sean said cryptically. “Of course the pressing issue at the moment is, well, I’ve got… relationship troubles.” Sean looked a bit uncomfortable.

“You want the bean to be your OK Cupid? Kind of a waste.”

“No. I need to break a love spell that somebody put on me. I’m also trying to… woo somebody.”

“I’d say you’ve got that in the bag. Seriously Sean, you’re kind of a hottie these days.”

“Thank you. But this is no ordinary someone. And there’s a third party involved. Anyway, don’t worry about it. No judging motives, as you said.”

“I did.”

“The bottom line is that with the bean in our possession, we will be powerful enough to manage whatever our little hearts’ desire. We already have a problem though,” he said.

“Which is?”

“Someone beat us to it.”

“What? You’re kidding me. How long have you known where it was?”

“I called you as soon as I was sure. I’m guessing my informant wasn’t as loyal to me as I thought. Either that or he stole the info from somebody else, who beat us to the punch. Whoever it was, they got the book too.”

“Carlson promised us the book if we ever found the bean.”

“Yeah, well dead men don’t keep promises. He was murdered. So was the witch who had the bean. Their hearts ripped out.”

“If somebody stole the book, then they know all that the bean is capable of.”

“Yeah. And if we don’t get it back soon, it will all be out of our hands.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“You ever shared what you know about the bean with anyone?”

“Negative. Once I left Portland I really didn’t think about it much. You?”

“There was one man. An old boyfriend I had when I was twenty one, and we were sure we would get married and rule the world.”

“You know gay marriage is illegal in most states.”

“Not in the Wesson community it’s not. Anyway, it can’t be him. He’s long dead.”

“Well that’s a relief. At least you’re off the hook for your tween-aged impetuousness.”

“Aren’t tweens like, twelve year olds?”

“Not according to Tolkien.”

“Ah.”

“So what are we going to do?”

“We’re going to find out who stole the bean from the witch, and we’re going to steal it back. Just…” Sean trailed off, eyes widening in surprise. Damon followed his line of sight to a twenty something guy, dark hair, blue eyes, tight body, confidently shaking the hand of another man. This one had a shaved head, mocha skin, and an equally tight body.

“What is it about the Beneton ad that’s got your attention, hmm? Let me guess, it’s the twink with the blue eyes.”

“That’s no twink, that’s Nick Burkhardt. He’s one of my detectives from Portland. And he’s a Grimm.”

“A Grimm?”

“They hunt my kind. I think he must have followed me here.”

“Say the word and his hot little ass is dead.”

“No! No you can’t harm him. Nick’s important. He’s just not supposed to be here. I don’t want him finding out about the bean.”

“Okay. So what should we do about him?”

“Let’s just get out of here,” said Sean. “We can talk more when he’s out of earshot. Ugh, I see he’s brought his bloodhound.”

“Just a guess, the bearded one? What is he, a werewolf?”

“Blutbad. Similar to a werewolf, but Wesson.”

“Wait, I thought that guy killed Wesson?”

“I’ll fill you in later. Let’s go while he’s distracted.”

“Fine by me. I want my hands on that bean.”

“And we will have it. We just have to work on our strategy.”

And with that, they slipped out of the diner.


	14. Convergence: Phone Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several phone calls send our heroes on a race to catch a killer.

“Benny?” Dean said into the receiver.

“I’ve got something for you,” Benny said.

“Where are you?”

“Vampire bar downtown. You wouldn’t like it, but it’s lousy with information.”

“People talking? About the murders?”

“Sure. Nobody here is in on it, as far as I can tell. But there’s a big business asking a lot of questions. You ever hear of the Initiative?”

“Nope. Should I have?”

“Apparently they’re Uncle Sam’s answer to your job, baby. Government funded military hunters. And they are all over this bean thing.”

“Do they know who’s doing the kills?”

“They’ve got a hunch. And I’ve got an address. Not sure who we’ll run into there, but if you’re ready for a fight, I’ve got your back.”

“Give me the place; we’re on our way.”

 

*          *          *

 

“Speak to me baby girl.”

“I have got a major breakthrough,” Garcia said excitedly. “Turns out police found surveillance cameras at all three murder scenes. Somebody had been doing their homework before committing the murders.”

“So they were definitely premeditated. Yeah, we were leaning that way. Do we have any actual footage?” asked Morgan.

“No. The cameras were just a live feed, so there is no video for us to watch.”

“But? Please give me a but here.”

“ _But,_ I was able to track the signal back to source. Hence, I know who was bugging them. Or at least, where was bugging them.”

“You’ve got an address for me, don’t you?”

“You know I do sugar lips. Sending it to your smartphone as we speak.”

 

*          *          *

 

“Reily Finn. I wondered how long it would take for you boys to get to town,” said Renard.

“Your Highness. We’ve got a little situation here. We could use your help.”

“You know about the bean then?”

“Yeah, and at the moment it’s in the absolute wrong hands.”

“And you trust it in my hands?”

“Not fully. But the truth is, we have always been able to come to agreeable terms with you. And we don’t know how to handle this particular object. We had a feeling you would.”

“The devil you know.”

“Precisely.”

“What’s your proposition?”

“We’re on our way to try and procure it now. But if he starts trying to use it, we don’t know how to combat it. We were hoping you would.”

“Of course.”

“Great. Then we hope you’ll agree to meet us at the reconnaissance point.”

“You can count on me, Agent Finn. Give me the address.”

 

*          *          *

 

Nick didn’t know what had just happened. One minute they had all been talking about the monsters under your bed, and the next thing he knew, everyone was getting a phone call and hauling out.

“Ever feel like you just missed the memo?” Monroe asked.

“Yeah. Something big is going down, and I want to know what it is.”

“We’re following someone, aren’t we?”

“You betcha.”

“Okay, well can we follow the hunters at least? I don’t really want trouble with the federal government.”

“Sure I…” Nick suddenly looked down at his buzzing phone. It seemed Renard was on the move again, too. “Change of plan, we’re following the captain,” Nick said.

“Ever get the feeling it’s six of one, half a dozen of another?” Monroe asked.

“I guess we’ll find out soon enough,” said Nick. “Let’s go hot stuff.”


	15. Convergence: The Hyperion Hotel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone collides and a battle is fought as the Thief of Hearts Killer's plan is revealed.

 

  _We're going down, down in an earlier round_  
And Sugar, we're going down swinging  
I'll be your number one with a bullet  
A loaded god complex, cock it and pull it

_~Fall Out Boy~_

“What’s “Mystic Falls?” Gunn asked.

“It’s a little town in Virginia, where a few old vampire lines tend to reside.”

“And you think the vampire doing this is from one of those lines?”

“Their originator is a vampire named Klaus Mikaelson. Really ancient guy, bad attitude, rotten to the core. Last I checked his best companion is this kid named Stefan Salvatore, and  Stefan has a brother. Anyway, Klaus and Stefan are the worst kind of vamps you can find. I know, because I used to hang with Klaus in my Angelus days. One of his favorite ways of killing people, demons, and vampires alike was to rip their hearts out of their chests while they were still alive.”

“Sounds kind of like our guy. Have you heard anything about Klaus being in town?”

“No. But he’d got a lot of power, and he’s sneaky. If he wants to stay under the radar, he can.”

“And you used to hang with him in your Angelus days.”

“Yeah. We got along quite well then, actually.”

“You ever rip any hearts?”

“Maybe once or twice. It’s not something I’m proud of.”

“Of course not.”

They were interrupted by the electronic chimes of Gunn’s cell phone.

“It’s work,” he said. “I’d better take this.”

“Gunn’s work is very important,” Connor informed Angel. “He said I would make a great agent for the initiative, but unfortunately just like Miley Cyrus, I can’t be tamed.”

“I am impressed by your ability to say that with a straight face, son.”

“And I am impressed with your knowledge of modern day pop stars, dad.”

“We have definite confirmation?” Gunn was saying into the phone. “Roger that.”

“Did you tell them about Klaus?” Angel asked, once Gunn had hung up.

“No, we didn’t get to that,” Gunn replied. There was something in his face that had changed. A darkness had come over him.

“Have you guys got someone else in mind?”

“We do.”

“Okay… let’s hear it. Who’s behind this according to the mighty Riley Finn?”

“You are,” Gunn said flatly. “Angelus.”

“What are you talking about?” Angel said, sounding baffled.

“Charles,” said Connor. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t share our suspicions with you Connor. I didn’t want to put you in a position to betray your father again.”

“But now it is you who is betraying him! And you are betraying me!”

“That’s not Angel,” said Gunn, raising a crossbow swiftly in front of him and training it on Angel.

“Gunn, you are so far out of it on this one,” said Angel, almost wanting to laugh except that Gunn was so serious. “Who’s behind this farce?”

“I’ve got a tranquilizer dart trained on you that will knock you out. I don’t want to kill you, because I’m sure we can get him back,” Gunn said.

“Gunn, I _am_ back! I mean, I haven’t left! Not in a really long time.”

“Charles,” said Connor warily. “I think that you are wrong on this one. I think that I would know.”

“Where is the bean, Angelus?” Gunn demanded. Angel looked from Gunn to Connor with complete bewilderment.

“Did you say “ _bean_ ”?”

Suddenly, there was a loud banging on the front door. All three of them stared at each other for a moment.

“Friends of yours?” Angel asked.

“No, mine don’t knock. And they’re waiting for my word.”

“Connor?”

“I’m not expecting anyone,” Connor said dismissively, then turned to Gunn, agitatedly.  “Charles, were you just pretending to like me to get close to my dad?”

“Don’t go there,” Gunn replied.

The banging came again. This time, accompanied with shouting.

“Mr. Angel? This is the FBI! We are entering your residence!”

“Oh now what the hell is this about?” Angel asked the room. The door banged open and Morgan and Reid entered, FBI vests on and guns drawn.

“Whoa, crossbow down, commando!” Morgan shouted at Gunn.

“Hold your fire,” said Gunn. This is a class twelve military operation. My unit holds jurisdiction here.”

“And just what unit is that?”

“Black Ops sector X,” said Gunn.

“If you can believe anything he says,” said Connor.

“I’ve never heard of it,” said Morgan, looking briefly at Reid, who shook his head. He’d never heard of it either.

“Because it’s above your pay grade, Agent,” said Gunn smugly. Morgan didn’t take too kindly to that.

“Or because he might be full of shit,” said Connor hotly.

“What are you trying to do here, boo?” Gunn asked Connor incredulously.

“ _Don’t go there,_ is not a denial,” Connor spat at Gunn.

“Well seeing as you’re so covert that a Supervisory Special Agent from Quantico has never heard of you, you are just going to have to contact my superiors to get me to back off of this one.” Said Morgan, trying to ignore the obvious lover’s spat.

“Do you have credentials?” asked Reid.

“Of course. But I’m not about to take my eyes off this motherfucker to pull them out.”

Morgan and Reid both looked at Angel.

“You own this hotel?” Reid asked him.

“Yes, but it’s a private residence. I live here with my son. What is this about?”

“We have reason to believe that you are involved in a series of murders. Can you explain to me why surveillance of all three murder sites was linked back to this address?”

“No. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Stand down Agent, I’ve got this,” Gunn insisted.

“You’ve got a medieval weapon and still no one is listening to you,” said Morgan. “You are interfering with a federal investigation—”

“—you have no idea what you’re dealing with here—“

“—yeah but I’ve got an idea,” came a voice from behind them all. A shotgun blast went off and Angel staggered, clutching his chest.

“Dad!” Connor shouted, then turned to see who’d caused the calamity. Dean Winchester lowered his shotgun and strode over to the cowering vampire.

“Wooden bullets,” Angel croaked.

“Yeah but I missed the heart,” said Dean. “Because I want some answers.”

Gunn turned his weapon on Dean, but Sam was quick to come behind him with a shotgun of his own.

“I don’t think so,” Sam said. “This is our party now.”

“Hold your fire! Everyone!” Morgan shouted. “Dean Winchester, put down your weapon and put your hands up!”

“Don’t you get it? He’d be dead already if he were mortal. This is a Vampire, _Derek_!”

“And this is a vampire’s son!” said Connor, attacking Dean ferociously, knocking the shotgun from his hands and tackling him to the ground.

“Agent Gunn I thought you had this under control!” shouted Riley Finn, entering from a side entrance with Captain Sean Renard and Damon Salvatore close behind him.

“It’s somewhere on the premises, I can sense it,” Renard said in a low voice to Damon.

“Good,” said Damon. “While the hunters cause this mayhem, I’ll find the bean in the fray. I don’t give a damn who lives or dies tonight, as long as it’s not –holy shit is that Angelus? I heard he went straight. Angie! You don’t look so good.”

“Mystic Falls!” said Angel. “Gunn... I told you…” Angel was still writhing in pain from the wooden bullets that peppered his body. Gunn looked suddenly unsure.

“Who the hell is this?” he demanded of Riley Finn.

“Allies,” answered Finn.

“This stops now!” yelled Angel, managing to stand. The room was spinning in and out of focus. Worse than that, nothing was making sense. Why was Gunn calling him Angelus? He hadn’t been subjected to his evil alter ego in quite some time now… after the last big battle finding a moment of true happiness wasn’t something he easily came by. He tried to center himself despite the pain from the wooden bullets. He could feel his body starting to expunge them, and he knew he would be okay if he could just stay in control. Yet even as he thought that, he felt his consciousness ebbing away slowly, and he thought of Lindsey again, his wicked mouth and vulnerable eyes. It was almost as though Lindsey were there in the room with all of them… was he speaking just now?

_Hold strong my love…_

No, that was not possible.

_We can handle them together. But I need your strongest side…_

“Stand down!” Gunn ordered, his voice breaking through what could not have been Lindsey McDonald talking to Angel. Someone else was entering the room now. Lindsey? No… it wasn’t him at all. Just another cop.

“Hands up where I can see them!” Shouted Nick Burkhardt, late to the party.

“You shouldn’t be here!” Renard scolded him.

“Everybody just calm down,” Nick commanded, somehow deluded into believing he could get control of the situation. Monroe had suggested that they stay outside of this one, what with all the big guns already inside, but Nick was having none of that.

Utter chaos reigned.

Connor was fighting Dean, and was starting to kick his ass, until Sam joined in to make it a fairer fight. The Winchesters had never fought an anomaly before. Once he saw how Connor was fairing, Charles Gunn abandoned his job of trying to control Angel, and jumped in the fight to help his boyfriend. Captain Renard was berating Nick for butting into dangerous things he knew nothing about, Monroe was growling at the Captain for accosting Nick that way, and Damon Salvatore took this moment to sidle up to Angel, who he remembered from his first decades of being a vampire, hoping to procure the location of the bean. Morgan, his weapon at the ready, was in a shouting match with Riley Finn over who needed to take charge in there, Riley was making that decision for the both of them by pulling a can of gas from his utility belt, and had starting to adjust his mask when Renard got Dean’s shotgun, which had been kicked over to his direction during the Winchesters’ fight with Connor and Gunn. Renard cocked it in Angel’s direction, thinking he could either force what he wanted out of the vampire, or kill him hence making the searching of his place for the bean that much easier. Damon, not ready to sacrifice Angel without at least a lengthy conversation in which he was sure he could make a deal about the bean, whispered to Angel quickly “ _the cop,”_ with a quick nod to Nick. Angel, increasingly confused and growing desperate grabbed Nick roughly and set him in front of him as a human shield.

“Damnit!” Renard cursed, unable to risk harming Nick. Riley was thrown off for just long enough for Reid to get the drop on him, slamming him to the ground with surprising strength and snatching the canned gas away from him. Watching Angel manhandling a struggling Nick, Monroe saw red, put on his Blutbad face and charged Angel, knocking Nick out of harm’s way. This act of aggression seemed to trigger something in Angel. His vamp face came out and he threw Monroe ten feet across the room, where he slammed into a wall and crumpled at the foot of it.

_Yes… there you are…_

Lindsey’s voice again, calling Angel to arms, asking him to… what, exactly? Let go? It sounded like the simplest solution, check out of this madness… but that wasn’t his style.

_Don’t fight it Angel. Come out and play my love._

Angel did try to fight it, whatever was happening, but he didn’t seem to have the power. The urge to step aside was all consuming. He felt something else at play here, something he wasn’t strong enough to resist. The need to release something… or someone…

“I heard you were asking for me, Charles Gunn!” Angel shouted suddenly, springing to his feet and pulling an object from his pocket that was small and shiny, gleaming in the low light of the room. “And I heard you were looking for this,” he added wickedly, putting it on display in the palm of his hand for all to see. 

“Dad!” shouted Connor, bloodied and in the midst of battle. The distraction cost him a smashing of the chin from the butt of Sam’s shotgun.

“Sorry kid, but Dad has left the building,” snapped Angel gleefully.

“He’s a split personality,” gasped Reid. “I’ve seen it before.”

“No, it’s a curse,” countered Gunn.

“I don’t care what you call it, but this guy wasn’t here five minutes ago.”

“Ding ding ding!” Shouted Angel. Or should we say Angelus. “We’re a bit ahead of schedule, lover!” He continued. Reid looked altogether confused, until he realized that this guy wasn’t talking to him anymore. But who was he talking to? Someone in the room was a co-conspirator.

“But that’s not the way it happens,” said Connor, referring to his father’s curse. “He’s never Angel one minute, Angelus the next.”

“Something’s changed,” said Gunn.

“Has anyone else noticed it’s gotten abnormally cold in here?” asked Dean.

“Spirit,” said Sam. “Gotta be.”

“You’re wanting me to go for it, then?” Angelus said, continuing his conversation with an unknown subject. Suddenly, he pulled a small, ancient looking text from his jacket pocket. He opened it to a previously marked page, and began reading from it in an ancient language, and a cold wind picked up in the room.

Riley made a move to attack, but was flung across the room to join Monroe in a heap on the floor, although no one had laid a hand on him.

“The spirit is protecting him!” Sam shouted, trying desperately to find the source of the power, so he could give it a good shot of rock salt. Dean was bleeding profusely from a head wound, so he wasn’t to be much help at the moment. Sam turned to Morgan.

“We’ve got to stop him,” he shouted over the wind, which was growing louder as the spell progressed. “I think I can gauge where the ghost is. When I do, we’ll have about a thirty second window to get at him before the ghost comes back.” Sam handed Morgan his demon dagger. “Cut him with this, it will put him down. But above everything else—stop the spell.”

“You got it,” Morgan said, ready. Sam knew that the stronger the spirit got, the more likely it was to disturb the air. He zoned in on it, and finally spotted the shimmer not two feet away from Angelus.

“Now,” Sam said, unloading the rock salt into the spirit.

Agent Morgan lunged at Angelus, knocking the book clear across the room, and grabbing for the bean as he cut the vampire deep with the dagger. Only Angelus didn’t die. Didn’t light up or smoke out or do any of the things that Sam expected when you ganked a demon with Ruby’s enchanted blade. Instead, Angelus turned his head evilly towards Morgan and said in a cold, clear voice, “That. Hurt.”

 He pulled the blade from his own chest, and drove it deep into Morgan, leaning in to whisper in his ear, “It’s a shame, really. You would have made a mighty fine vampire,” and tossed him to the ground.

“ _Noooooo!”_ Reid screamed, dropping everything and running to Morgan’s side, as the room began to spin before his eyes. He reached Morgan and grabbed him into his arms, hugging on him and now trying to apply pressure to the wound. Morgan’s eyes were startled; wide. His body began to shake inadvertently. Reid was crying now, tears flowing freely, unaware of the war that continued to wage in the room. “Stay with me Derek,” he begged, trying to stop the bleeding and cradle him all at once. “You are so strong, stay with me.”

“Oh my God, I think I’m actually dying,” Derek said, still in shock.

“No no NO! Don’t say that! Are none of you medics?!” Reid screamed to the room. He looked desperately back at Morgan. “Three fucking doctorates and I don’t know how to save you!”

“No, stop,” said Derek. He caught Reid’s eyes in his, willing him to focus. “Be here with me. I don’t want to do this alone.” Reid felt bits of his heart crumbling like the outskirts of a mountain before an avalanche. The emotion was so strong it caused him physical pain, squeezing his chest and making it hard to breathe. But he couldn’t check out right now. Derek needed him.

“I’m here. I’m right here,” Reid said, gauging the amount of blood, feeling Derek’s body temp dropping. Intellectually he knew the truth. He just did not want to face it.

“Talk to me, kid. Tell me something, anything.”

“I love you.”

Derek smiled.

“I know.”

“No, you don’t. I mean, I really love you. Like, I’m in love with you.” Reid could see his own tears falling onto Derek’s cheek. He wiped them away, tried to get a hold of himself. “I don’t know why I never told you. Seems so easy now, in the last hour.”

“Well damn Spencer, If I’d known that a little sooner I wouldn’t have gone and gotten myself stabbed to death by a vampire,” said Morgan, somehow managing playfully as he was struggling for breath and the life was draining out of his body.

“Once this is over with I’m going to kill him,” Reid said, and he meant it. He had never wanted vengeance so strongly in all his life. But right now that feeling was overpowered by his love for Derek Morgan, and knowing that these were the last moments they had left.

“Wait, so I didn’t win?” asked Morgan. “Is he still doing the spell?”

Reid looked up into the room. The small army that had come to stop the vampire looked ravaged and defeated, strewn across the room or overpowered into acceptance. Damon Salvatore was beside Angelus again, holding the book so that he could finish reading the spell. Nick Burkhardt had apparently lodged an unsuccessful attack of his own, as he was lying beaten and bruised with a scared looking Sean Renard beside him. Gunn and Connor stood a safe distance away, glowering in anger disbelief, but not wanting to hurt the body that should belong to Angel. Dean was barely conscious, but seemed in good hands with Benny, who had arrived at the hotel at some point and was tending his wounds. Monroe and Riley were still knocked out from their early attempts at stopping Angelus. Only Sam stood to face him, not with weapons but words, trying to understand how his strategy had just gotten a good man killed.

“The dagger… why didn’t it work on you?” Sam demanded, and Angelus stopped reading, and considered him. 

"That dagger is for demons. For creatures without souls,” Angelus said calmly.

“But you’re a vampire.”

“Yes. But at the moment, Angel is still inside of me. It’s annoying, true. But with kind of an awesome silver lining. He is a vampire with a soul. Your dagger cannot kill him. Therefore, it cannot kill me, even though I choose to reject the soul.”

“But that’s not how the curse works!” insisted Gunn.

“Well then, this must be something other than the curse, Charles,” Angelus replied. “Isn’t that right, lover?” he smiled as though he’d gotten an answer.

“Who is she?” asked Sam. “The ghost?”

“Who is _he_ , Opie. And none of your business.”

“Uh, don’t you want to get back to the storytime?” asked Damon. None of this was going according to plan, but Damon was fine with improv. Somehow this magic would bring him back together with Alaric; he could feel it. And he intended to do things right this time.

“Oh, the reading part is done,” said Angelus. “I’m just waiting on him to tell me when to plant the bean. You know, you all should feel privileged. The fact that you are all here gives you the unique opportunity to try and shape your destiny,” he said.

“How so?” Sam demanded.

“This kind of magic is really complicated,” Angelus told them, his voice rising as the wind in the closed up room began to roar louder, and lights began to flash out of nowhere. “And most of it Lindsey and I will control—“

“—who’s Lindsey?” asked Sam.

“Oh _hell_ no,” said Gunn. “As in McDonald? That screwed up piece of trailer trash? I heard he was dead.”

“He _is_ dead, Gunn. Thanks to my alter ego. But that is going to change soon. As I was saying, Lindsey and I will control most of it, but the magic is so massive that there’s no way we can direct it all.”

“I don’t understand,” shouted Sam.

“We’re leaving this mortal coil, _dearies_ , and where we’re going, I’ll be calling the shots. But there are some things that I just don’t give a shit enough about to request. So when the bean finds a blank, it goes with _the loudest wish in the room_.”

Damon broke into a Cheshire cat smile.

“I was hoping it would work that way,” he said.

“No wish at all and it just falls at random. See how you guys are lucky? The conscious ones, anyway?”

“But we have no idea where we’re going! How do we know what to wish for?” said Benny. He had arrived in the middle of the fray, with no idea whose side he was supposed to be on, so dropping to Dean’s side had been the only thing that he was sure about. He was cradling the half conscious hunter in his arms, trying not to be too overwhelmed by the sight and smell of his part-time lover’s blood.

“That one, I can’t help you with,” said Angelus.

“You won’t get away with this!” Sam threatened, but Angelus seemed unconcerned. Damon looked triumphant beside him, and glanced at Sean Renard, who felt Damon’s eyes on him and looked up from his gaze at Nick Burkhardt. Damon gave Sean a wink which Sean returned.  

“What’s that lover?” Angelus said to his ghost. “Oh, my pleasure.” He drew back the hand that held the bean, and then tossed it gracefully to the floor, as if he were skipping a stone across a pond. Sam lunged forward to grab at it, but where the bean fell a whirlpool began to form, churning rapidly, and as soon as Sam reached it he fell headfirst through what had once been the floor, quickly disappearing from sight. Benny tried to scoot away from it, pulling Dean with him, but he could tell the power of the magic was too strong. He saw Dean’s lips moving, though his eyes didn’t open. Dean tried again, his voice mostly inaudible, but Benny’s vampire ears picked it up, and then wished he hadn’t.

“ _Cas,”_ Dean murmured. “ _Cas._ ”

The spiral continued to expand, growing bigger, wilder, and stronger,  and those on the floor nearest it: (Sam first, then Nick and Renard, Dean, Benny and so on;) began to fall into the whirling circle, swallowed up into the unknown abyss.

Spencer Reid couldn’t comprehend what was happening. He didn’t know how this magic was occurring before his eyes, but rather than try to escape it, he clung tight to Derek Morgan, who still clung to the final wisps of his life, looking into Reid’s eyes with the full knowledge that they were the last things he would ever see.

“Kiss me,” Derek said, and the ground opened up beneath them and swallowed them up, and everything else with them.


	16. Part Two: Los Angelus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the other side.

_We would live forever_  
Who could ask for more  
You could die if you wanted  
But baby, what for?  
  
It's better if you don't understand  
And you won't know what it's like  
Until you try  
  
You know I, I've been waiting on the other side  
And you, all you gotta do is cross the line  
I could wait a whole life time but you just gotta decide  
You know I, I've been waiting on the other  
Waiting on the other side 

_~Bruno Mars~_

“It worked,” said Angelus. He was standing in a large garden on a hillside property. It was midday, and the sun hung bright in the afternoon sky. Angelus had to squint to see Lindsey, standing next to him and fully corporeal. He hadn’t squinted in two hundred years.

“Did you ever doubt me?” Lindsey asked, a clever smile dancing across his face.

“Not for a minute love. There are rules though, aren’t there?”

“The sky has a shield cast across it. It’s what protects you from the sun. At dusk and dawn, it can breach the shield. You can be burned then.”

“I can live with that.”

“Starting now, everyone has free will. There’s no guarantee things will stay as we have them set.”

“Just as God intended. But they won’t know what’s been changed.”

“No. Only you and I remember the old world. Everyone else believes their lives have been spent here.”

Angelus turned south, noting the enormous mansion on the property. With inventive pikes and towers, it resembled a modern day castle.

“Is that our new place?”

“Hey, you designed it,” Lindsey said, looking amused. I’m from Texas. I wanted a ranch.”

“Too small, Lindsey. Kings don’t live in ranches. Kings live in castles. And so do their queens.” He swept Lindsey off his feet, into his arms and kissed him fast; fresh. “Feels so good to touch you, my queen.”

“Feels good to be touched. Remember what I promised you at the start of all this?”

“Sex in the sun.”

“Oh look, lover. It’s the sun.”

They tumbled to the ground, pawing at each other, stripping off clothes which blew about in the warm Californian wind.

“Now don’t you get too happy about this,” Lindsey teased, as Angelus poised to mount him. “I don’t want Angel showing up.”


	17. Los Angelus: Dinner Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the alternate world, Dean wants nothing more than to please his man, and Sam wants nothing more than to get between them.

“Are you hungry babe?” Dean asked Benny, who sat in his favorite chair watching some neighborhood kids play kick ball in the street. It was late afternoon, and the shadows of the children were growing long, the light turning golden. Dean climbed onto Benny’s lap, to better garner his attention. “It’s getting time to close the blinds,” he said. “It’s almost sunset.”

“Did you know, legend has it that there was a time when Vampires couldn’t survive in the sun at any time of day?” Benny asked him. “I’m talking from sunrise to sunset, not just the bookends when the rays are harmful. Can you imagine that?”

“I’ve heard the stories, sure,” Dean said. “I don’t know if I buy it though. How could something that couldn’t survive half the day become the most formidable creature on earth? It’s crazy.”

“Yeah, I don’t know how that would work,” Benny said, turning his attention to Dean now, eyeing the prominent jugular vein in his neck. “Did you ask if I was hungry, sugar?”

“I did,” said Dean, angling his neck so that Benny had easy access to it. Benny fanged up, and brought his mouth down on Dean’s neck, breaking the skin and drinking at the burst of warm, crimson nectar that flowed from the bulging vein. Dean moaned in pleasure, arching his back and putting an arm up around Benny’s neck while grabbing his thick head of hair to keep from sliding off his lap. It was always painful, but there was a kind of euphoric bliss that went along with being fed on. Plus he and Benny were so connected when it happened. It felt even closer than making love, although Dean loved sex with Benny just as well. In fact, he was hoping that after Benny had his dinner, he would give Dean a little “fucking for the sucking,” as he put it. Then he heard it, somewhere on the outside of their little cocoon a door opened and slammed shut. If it was Benny’s friend Stefan, he would leave them be, walk swiftly to wait in the living room until they were finished. The feet stopped in the doorway, however, and a loud, audible sigh was heard from the killjoy’s general direction. Dean’s eyes fluttered open and he confirmed that it was his brother Sam.

“How long’s he been at it?” asked Sam. “You’re looking a little weak. He’s looking a little weak, Benny.” Now it was Benny’s turn to sigh. He pulled up off of Dean, but he didn’t look particularly happy about it.

“I thought we were taking his key away,” Benny said irritably at Dean.

“I know, but… it’s my little brother, Benny.”

“Not so little anymore. Big enough to be a definite pain in the ass.”

“Sammy, I told you about interrupting dinner,” Dean said.

“I just don’t want him going too far with you,” Sam insisted.

“Come on Sam, Dean’s virtue has left the building,” Dean snarked.

“Listen kid, I will drink from my blood slave as much as I want to, you got that?," Benny injected, annoyed. "You don’t want me to report you as an interfering mortal.”

“I can’t believe you signed that contract,” Sam seethed at Dean.

It had been a sore subject from the moment Dean had decided to do it. But what Sam didn’t understand, was that Benny really cared about Dean. It wasn’t about him being Benny’s property.

Dean had started running into Benny at The Howling, a bar where he and Sam both worked. Benny would come in every day and order a bloody mary, and he’d always ask Dean to squeeze a little bit of his own blood in the drink, which of course Dean would always refuse to do. Monroe (who owned the bar) didn’t like it, and Dean respected that. Plus, as someone who had spent his early life living under the late great John Winchester, he knew better than to let some strange vampire get a taste of his blood.

“Yeah, that’s against company policy, chum,” Dean would say.

“William the Bloody gets his spiked every night,” Benny would reply.

“Well maybe you should start ordering from Vicki over there,” Dean would reply, nodding a head over to the cocktail waitress known for adding in a little extra for guaranteed tips.

“I like the view better from over here,” Benny would say, sometimes with a wink, sometimes with some flirty eyebrows, sometimes just as a matter of fact. He knew he could have got it from Vicki or somebody like her, but he never asked them. It wasn’t about the drinks. It was about Dean.

Despite their flirting, Dean tried to keep his distance. He sometimes wondered what Benny would think if he knew that once upon a time, Dean had been being groomed to fight the daily battle against the damned.

Vampire hunters had been outlawed since the last great human vs. vampire war, some twenty years ago. Every known hunter had been hunted themselves, tracked down, and then killed, turned, or imprisoned in the blood slave camps that supplied the top shelf stuff at the bar. Somehow when it all came down, John Winchester had managed to stay under the radar, so he and his family were never treated to a hunter’s fate. But John still tried to fight in his own way. He would prowl the streets at night, defending humans that got caught after dark during the devil’s hour. During that time, all sanctions protecting the human element were off, and it was a free for all. Humans out during devil’s hour were out at their own risk, and could be hunted, fed upon, and even killed without fear of retribution. So John Winchester became that retribution. That is, until one night when he just didn’t come home, and the boys never saw their father again. Dean assumed that some vamp had finally gotten the best of him.

At first Dean, who had been eighteen at the time of his father’s disappearance, had planned on taking up the fight where John had left off. But Sam had convinced him otherwise.

“The war is over, Dean,” Sam had said matter of factly.  “All that’s left for hunters to do is die.”

“I can’t believe that’s your attitude! If Dad had believed that, there would be a lot more people without their lives tonight.”

“Dad fought these monsters the only way he knew how. I’m saying there’s another way,” Sam insisted.

He said the way to make a difference was to get an education, and learn to protect humans through legislation.  Dean didn’t really see himself as the college grad type, and it was really difficult for humans to get that kind of education these days, but he knew that Sam was smart enough, and so he had made it his mission to get his brother through school. They both wound up working at The Howling, a local watering hole that played host to everyone without discrimination. Their boss Monroe was more like a brother, despite being a Blutbad. They liked it there so much that even when Sam graduated and got a job as a lawyer with the Human Consulate, he continued to work the bar on the weekends. Dean would still be there too, if he hadn’t made contract with Benny. The ironic thing was, if it hadn’t been for Sam, Dean and Benny’s agreement never would have happened.

Sam had been part of the human interest task force that created the regulated Vampire’s Companion contracts.  Making blood slaves of free men became outlawed. Only those convicted of violent crime would be sent to the blood slave camps to be used as food supply. However, a human and vampire could devise a contract in which the human would agree to be the vampire’s permanent blood vessel. The vampire would agree to keep their companion fed, clothed and sheltered (usually quite lavishy) and the human would in turn be at their master’s beck and call. Most of these contracts gave humans very little rights, but they could only be entered into willingly. Many humans were happy to give their paltry rights away in exchange for the ultimate protection from a vampire.  For once you were a Vampire’s companion no other vamp was allowed to step to you. It quickly became a status symbol, the higher in rank a vampire you could get, the better. And the more vampire companions you could afford to keep up, the more successful a vampire you must be.

 Of course Sam never thought that his brother would enter into one of these contracts. They were almost impossible to get out of, and it wasn’t like they needed the money. Sam made enough at the Consulate to support them quite well for a couple of humans in L.A. But what Sam didn’t realize was that Dean had fallen for Benny. He couldn’t even explain it really, they just seemed to have this connection.  It had snowballed from flirting over bar drinks to crazy intense attraction in a matter of days. Dean loved Benny’s tough exterior and his soft heart. In many ways Benny reminded him of his long lost father. Only instead of killing vampires, he was one.

“It’s done, okay?” Dean told Sam for like the billionth time. “I like it. It’s really more like a relationship. Benny’s not like a lot of them. I’m taken care of, he’s taken care of, and I’m now off limits to every other vamp. Even at night, as long as I wear my charms.” Dean picked up a silver cuff from the table and slid it on his wrist. A black B was etched into it, indicating that Dean was Benny’s property. Sam scowled even harder.

“What are you here for, Sam?” Benny asked him. He was staying cool, but his patience was waning. Sam pursed his lips.

“I’m on my way to work,” he said to Dean. “I didn’t know if you wanted to come along and pilfer free food from Monroe.”

“Dean’s good,” said Benny.

“I’d rather hear that from Dean,” Sam said stiffly. Dean sighed and shook his head.

“Gentlemen, put your penises away. I have one too, remember? No need for the sword fighting.”

“You’re disgusting,” Sam said.

“True. And I am also good, as Benny informed you previously. We’re going to a dinner party at the Salvatores’. They like it when someone eats.”

“You’ll be surrounded in Vampires.”

“Sammy, for a little brother you sure do worry a lot.” Dean once again pointed to his silver cuff. “Protected.” He pointed then at Benny himself. “Doubly protected. He’s a good guy, you know.”

“Whatever. Okay, I’m out of here.”

“Aw, so soon?” Benny asked, dripping with sarcasm.

Sam went out.

“Bye Sammy,” Dean called after him. He swatted Benny. “You could try to get along with him, you know. For me.”

“Getting along with your nosey little brother is not in our contract, sugar,” Benny drawled. “Now seems to me you gave me some pretty good suckin’. What do you say I give you one hell of a good fuckin’?”

“Sounds fair to me,” Dean said. In one fell swoop, Benny stood up, spun Dean around and leaned him over the bar that separated the living room from the kitchen. Dean felt light headed from all the blood he’d just lost, so he found himself compliant, laughing at Benny’s aggression. “You do it this way on purpose, don’t you?” He said as he felt Benny’s hand at his belt, unbuckling him and diving a hand between his legs.

“Do what? Make you cum?”

“Drain me first so I’m your fucking geisha doll. You know that’s why Sam doesn’t like you.”

“Sam wants you for himself,” Benny replied, pushing Dean’s jeans and underwear past his hips and spreading his legs apart wider. “He wants you to be his very own geisha doll,”

“You’re full of shit,” Dean said, bucking back at him to throw him off, if only for a second. Benny laughed. “Did I touch a nerve? Enough about your brother. Even though he wishes he could do this,” Benny said, dropping suddenly to his knees and going face first into Dean’s supple ass.

“Oh _, fuck,”_ Dean moaned, leaning onto the bar for support as his knees started to buckle.

“Just getting you ready, sugar,” Benny drawled, getting Dean good and slick and then standing back up and unzipping his own trousers. He slammed into Dean without anymore warning, and Dean cried out from the pain, but he liked it best that way. He liked to earn the pleasure. Benny moved inside him rough and fast his body hot from his recent feed. “ _That’s my blood. Warming him up for me,_ ” Dean thought, before the orgasm caught him off guard. His legs gave way and Benny let him collapse to the ground, gasping.

“Damn,” said Benny, “You are so fucking sexy when you’re spent.”

“Do we still have dinner plans?” Dean panted. “Because I could probably fall out right here.”

“Can you make it to the bathroom, sugar?” Benny said, chuckling. “Or do I need to carry you so that you can get cleaned up? You can’t wear our collective cum to the dinner party.”

“ _Asshole,_ ” Dean said. But he was used to Benny being an asshole. He was _Dean’s_ asshole. And most vamps wouldn’t be yours, not if you were human.


	18. Los Angelus: The Spy Who Loved Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Damon and Alaric get ready for their dinner party, Damon remembers the origins of their romance.

Damon stopped in the doorway dividing the bathroom from the bedroom. He leaned against the door jam, affixing the bejeweled links into his French cuffs, and just watched as Alaric buttoned his shirt and tucked it into the waistband of his slacks. They liked dressing up for dinner, just because they could. It was such an average thing, watching his boyfriend dress, and yet for some reason Damon felt uncustomarily moved by it. Neither melancholy nor overt emotion was his thing, so whatever it was that was bubbling up uninvited Damon pushed down deep. Tonight was celebratory. But he did allow himself to enjoy the view.

It was dusk, so the blinds were drawn, but the chandelier was fully lit, casting an incredibly flattering light to admire Alaric in. When he went to adjust his own cufflinks, Alaric glanced up and caught Damon standing there.

“Have you been watching me?” he asked, coming towards Damon now, taking him by the elbows and pulling him close. Damon breathed him in. For some reason everything about Alaric was especially delicious tonight.

“And so what if I have?” Damon countered. “You were asking for it, shining in this gloomy room like a diamond in the sky.”

“I get poetry tonight? I should shower more often.” Alaric leaned in for a kiss, and Damon welcomed it, losing himself for a moment.

“What time is everybody getting here?” Damon asked, hoping they had time for more than just kissing.

“We’re already running late,” Alaric said.

“No fair,” said Damon. He took Alaric’s hand in his, and brought his index finger to his mouth, sucking gently on the tip.

“Stefan is probably already downstairs,” Alaric said. Damon pierced Alaric’s finger with his right fang, tasted his blood.

“You trying to start something?” Alaric asked sexily.

“Just making sure you’re real,” Damon said.

“What an odd thing to say. You’re almost maudlin tonight.”

“You’re confusing me with my brother,” Damon said, flashing a wicked grin at Alaric.

“There you are,” Alaric said, kissing him again. “Help me pick out a jacket.”

“Oh god, somebody had better,” Damon agreed. He walked over to Alaric’s closet and began perusing the merchandise. “Ric, have you been shopping on your own again?” He asked. “Cause some of these jackets look a bit like your despicable hunter past.”

Damon had met Alaric while on special assignment for the King. Angelus had heard of a possible human resistance building in Huntington Beach, but he feared making a public spectacle of it could give the movement more strength, through the martyr effect. So he sent Damon in to gather information about the sect. Damon knew he’d be made as a vampire immediately, so he devised a plan to get their trust. Since Stefan was a well known bleeding heart pro-human advocate, all Damon had to do was get Stefan to want to help this rebel outfit, and then to go along with him as though he had finally been convinced to share in the human plight. It had worked brilliantly.

The organization had been slow to accept them, but Stefan’s lack of knowledge about Damon’s ulterior motives had made him the best kind of con man. Eventually he won them over, including their leader Alaric Saltzman, a brash young hunter so hell bent on destroying the undead it was rumored he had killed his own wife when she’d been turned into a creature of the night. What Damon had not counted on, was how attracted he had felt to Alaric.

He remembered the first time he’d felt it, on a hot summer night spent expanding the group’s arsenal. Both guys were stripped to their ribbed cotton tanks, Alaric’s was an army green that hugged his pectorals and teased a set of washboard abs produced by hours of training himself to fight the undead enemy. The irony of said undead enemy standing beside him whittling wooden stakes was not lost on Damon, and he had looked up at Alaric and said:

“Promise me I’m not fashioning my own noose.” He’d meant it as a joke of course; just another smart-ass comment from Damon Salvatore, but Alaric had given him a measured look and said:

“I can’t promise you that. Every day we make new decisions that will ultimately guide our fates. The future’s not set, and my cause will not be dictated by the well being of individuals.”

“Elegant,” Damon had replied. “If a bit rehearsed. You might want to work on making it a tad more approachable.” Alaric stared at him for a beat, and then burst into full on laughter, something Damon had not expected at all. He clapped a hand on Damon’s shoulder and leaned into him for a moment, laughing at himself. His hand felt strong and warm there against Damon’s cool skin, and he’d felt it, that prick of excitement when pheromones connected unexpectedly. Alaric slapped Damon’s own washboard abs playfully, and went back to his wood.

“I need that sometimes,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re all right Damon. For a bloodsucker anyway.”

After that, their friendship had progressed. It seemed Alaric trusted Damon even more than Stefan, whom the rest of the rebellion (particularly Alaric’s stepdaughter Elena) preferred. And despite being there to take down the rebels from the inside out, Damon found himself helping Alaric become a better hunter, just so he could spend one on one time with him.

 The two would often spar, one of Damon’s favorite contact sports. Damon could feel their attraction growing every day, but he could also see Alaric trying to fight it. Damon was probably his favorite vampire, but he was still a vampire. Once, when Damon found himself slammed up against a tree trunk with Alaric’s tense body pressed against him, a wooden stake just inches from his heart, he asked his opponent:

“Is it true you killed your vampire wife?”

Alaric looked stunned for a moment, dropping the stake and taking a step back. But his eyes never left Damon’s face.

“Yes,” he replied. “But it wasn’t out of ruthlessness, or some divine need to kill all vampires. I had to stop her from killing her children. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Elena and Jeremy. Your step-kids.”

“Yeah. I thought when she was turned… that maybe we could get through it somehow. It wasn’t personal or political, just the wrong place at the wrong time for her. I wanted her to stay. I thought we could make it work… I was wrong. She’d lost her soul.”

“And that’s why you fight.”

“That was the beginning of it. But at the end of the day, it’s not a personal vendetta. It’s about basic human rights. Angelus has got to be stopped because he is the pinnacle of social injustice.”

Damon had pulled Alaric roughly back into his space and kissed him, hard. He temporarily lost himself in the salty taste of Alaric’s skin, his scent, his strongly beating heart that was quickening with each passing second of their embrace. The pleasing agony of holding his bloodlust at bay, dying to drink from the life force of this powerful man, but willing himself to control it and just relish in the mortal beauty of body to body. Then Alaric had broken it, pulled away from Damon but looked him in the eyes, not angry… something else. Trepidation. A lesson hard earned. 

“I don’t dare,” he whispered, almost apologetic, and took his leave.

The guy was so noble, so strong, so full of righteous duty that Damon should have hated him more than most. Men with a strong sense of purpose always pissed him off, and yet somehow with Alaric, he found himself admiring it. And he wasn’t ready to accept Alaric’s dismissal of their attraction. As usual, Damon had found a way to make life harder on himself.

 Even as Damon promised to help Alaric capture the King’s son to hold as ransom, he struggled with the feeling of being a double, double agent. He didn’t agree with Alaric’s cause, he fully believed vampires to be the top of the food chain and therefore in their rightful place. But he was beginning to believe in Alaric himself, in his idealism, his chivalry, his willingness to do anything to protect the ones he loved.

Damon had been given orders to crush the rebellion, snuff out the followers, and quietly kill the leader, so that there would be no martyr to cling to. But as the job wore on, he became increasingly convinced that he would not be able to kill Alaric. It was also becoming difficult to keep the charade up with Stefan, who was getting ready to turn against his own race over the love of this Elena girl.

Alaric’s stepdaughter was not only very beautiful, but shockingly a dead ringer for the brothers’ sire, Katherine Pierce, so of course Stefan had fallen in love with her. It was hard to blame him, seeing as she was a human form of the young woman they had both been so mad for once upon a time. Damon probably would have fought him for her, if he hadn’t been falling so hard for Alaric. Poised to betray all the people he’d come to care about most in the world, Damon was beginning to feel like the fink at the end of the story, and he hated it.

Then, the unthinkable happened.

Katherine, who had been so long at large that both Damon and Stefan had begun to wonder if she’d succumbed to the Vampire Wars in Europe, turned up in Los Angeles, wearing the age old assumption that the Salvatore brothers (especially Stefan, who had always been her favorite) would be waiting all bated breathy for her inevitable return. Imagine her surprise when she found them cavorting with a growing Vampire resistance and Stefan in love with a human version of her undisputed beauty. Katherine would not stand for it, and so she did the one thing that would crush what Elena had over her: she turned Elena into a Vampire. Stefan was beyond devastated, but Alaric was enraged, so much so that he put their entire operation in jeopardy by abandoning their hard planned kidnapping scheme and went stake first after Katherine, leaving a trail of vampiric bodies in his wake.

 He pushed Damon out of his life, blaming his trust in the vampires for Elena’s ultimate undoing. But his inability to kill Damon gave the vampire hope. Damon knew that Alaric was going to get himself killed, in fact he thought it was possibly his plan: suicide by Vampire. So Damon concocted his own plan. When he heard that Alaric had finally caught up with Katherine, he went to the hunter first, in the guise of begging him to call off his attack.

“You’ll get yourself killed,” Damon pleaded, knowing full well his words would do nothing to change Alaric’s mind.

“If she dies in the process it will be a life well spent,” replied Alaric darkly, drinking deeply from the glass of wine Damon had poured for him, completely unaware it was spiked with Damon’s own Vampire blood.

“Well those are famous last words if I’ve ever heard them,” Damon replied snappishly. “How much did you pay for that tag line?”

“I don’t have time for you or your quips.”

“Far be it from me to take time away from your precious suicide. I’ll be going then.” He left before Alaric could see the smile creeping into the corners of his mouth. Things were going exactly as planned.

 When Alaric descended upon Katherine, hot with rage but broken in anguish over the loss of his beloved wife’s daughter, Katherine made easy work of him. She killed him within minutes. But Damon was there to spirit the body away, and when Alaric awoke, it was Damon who was there to welcome him into his new immortal life. Damon got credit for dismantling the resistance and “taking out” their leader. Everything had fallen perfectly into place, and even though Damon had feared for a moment that Alaric might be angry with him for siring him into the world of the undead, Alaric had surprised him by accepting it quite easily. It was as if all Damon’s wishes had come true, and the two had been inseparable ever since. Hadn’t they?

For some reason, standing in their room and helping Alaric dress, Damon felt as though their lives together had been threatened, somehow. He felt the nonsensical urge to grab a hold of his lover, for fear the universe could snatch him away at any time. Alaric was right; he was maudlin today. Must have been hanging around Stefan too much. He once again dismissed the foreign feelings, and returned his attention to present day Alaric, who was still defending his fashion choices.

“What can I say, I like plaid jackets. I was not, however, going to wear one of them to dinner. Are the girls coming, by the way?”

“Elena R.S.V.P.’d. Which is a real feat, considering how Stefan treated her the last time she was here.”

“Can you really blame him? She left him for a woman.”

“And he should be man enough to handle it,” Damon chuckled. “He’s been a real sourpuss lately, we’ve got to get him laid.”

“Maybe you do,” Alaric said. “Not my jurisdiction. I’m only interested in getting you laid.”

“Fair enough. I can be out of these dinner clothes in two point five seconds,” Damon enticed.

“Hold that thought speedy. We have guests coming.”

“Can I have a hand job under the table?”

“What are we, werewolves? This is a classy dinner party, Damon. But I’ll give you a blow job once they’ve all gone home.”

“Deal,” Damon said, sticking out his hand for a shake on it. Alaric took it, shaking his head with amusement.

“You know you’re my favorite thing, right?” he asked Damon.

“Of course I know that,” said Damon smartly. But his heart swelled all the same. “Did anybody order real food? Because I think Benny’s bringing his blood slave.” Damon made a face. “He’s definitely… progressive.”

“I think it’s nice,” said Alaric. You know, it wasn’t’ so long ago I was human too. They deserve respect.”

“I guess, but I really don’t respect anyone, so I’m definitely not going to start with a blood bag.”

“Just try not to use that term when they’re here? People get offended.”

“Fine. Blood receptacle?”

“I happen to like Dean.”

“You would. There’s something about you two that seems sort of… I don’t know. Cut from the same cloth. You don’t think he used to be a hunter, do you?”

“No way. All the hunters were killed, turned, or imprisoned when Angelus took power. Plus no hunter would _ever_ be a blood slave. Not if they had any say in it.”

“You’re probably right. Then it’s most likely just his ass that you like so much. If he weren’t Benny’s I’d bite it off.”

“I don’t want his ass.”

“Why not? I don’t like him and I want his ass. It’s much better than mine. I think it’s even better than Stefan’s. Stefan is looking a little skinny these days, don’t you think?”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“Oh. This one,” Damon handed a deep forest green dinner jacket to Alaric. “It pulls out the green flecks in your eyes.”

“Perfect,” Alaric said, slipping into it gracefully. "Shall we?”

“Let’s go babe,” Damon said, brushing aside any lingering sense of unease and feeling extremely satisfied with life.


	19. Los Angelus: A Close Shave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick Renard recalls how he met his husband. But is the man he loves hiding something?

“Ah-- shit!” Sean Renard exclaimed, dropping his razor into the sink as red droplets of blood fell from his chin. His mind had been swimming with other things, although what they were now he couldn’t quite remember.

“Are you cutting up that handsome face of yours?” Nick asked from the doorway. He was shirtless, and the dress slacks he wore hung sexily about his well defined hip bones. Sean looked at him from within the mirror.

“I guess I got distracted,” he said.

“There’s blood on your wife beater,” he said, pointing to Renard’s white tank.

“You want to rephrase that?” Sean said, smiling at him. “That was rife with unintentional irony.”

“Whoops,” said Nick, grimacing adorably. “Well, I can definitely vouch for you not beating me,” he said, walking purposefully up to Sean and pulling the tank up over his head. He tossed it in the nearby laundry bin and picked up the razor from the sink. “Here, let me,” he said, taking Sean’s face in hand and carefully drawing the razor across his cheek.

“What would I do without you?” Sean asked.

“You would go to dinner parties with bits of paper stuck to cuts all over your face,” Nick said, eyes twinkling. He paused at a thought. “The Salvatores will have actual food there, won’t they?”

“Of course. I think Benny is bringing his Vampire’s companion, so he’ll be eating too.”

“Dean, right?”

“I think that’s his name,” said Sean.

“Looks like an Abercrombie & Fitch model? With the freckles?”

“Yes, that’s the one. I think he could do better than Benny, status wise. He’s quite beautiful.”

“Maybe it’s not about status with them,” Nick speculated.

“For a Vampire’s companion? It’s always about status.”

“I don’t know about that. Maybe they love each other. It _can_ happen you know… interspecies love,” Nick said with a final swipe of Sean’s chin, and then kissed him sweetly on the cheek.

“Only when the stars align, and the gods insist on it,” Renard said, pulling Nick close to him and grabbing his irresistible mouth in his own.

“Well if you were to lose your position with the consulate, I would keep you around,” said Nick.

“But that’s because you’re not with me for my status; you’re with me for my body,” Renard said knowingly.

“Touché,” said Nick, kissing him again. “And why are you with me, exactly? You could certainly do better, status wise.”

“Better than the Wesson Consular’s wife? I doubt that very much.”

“Ha ha ha. But I am only human. You’re a Wesson royal.”

“How many times do I have to tell you Nick Burkhardt that you are much more special than the average human?”

“Nick Renard,” Nick corrected. Nick had taken Sean’s name because Sean’s stature was so much higher than Nick’s. Married citizens of equal status were hyphenated, otherwise the stronger family won. Sean Renard was the most powerful Wesson in Los Angelus; the only Royal in L.A. The fact that he had married a human had been quite the scandal at first, especially since Nick Burkhardt was so ordinary.

Nick had worked the security camera room at the consulate offices downtown; a good job for a human, but without much promise. The first time Sean had met him, he had asked him if he liked his job.

“I do, very much,” Nick had answered truthfully.

“Pity then,” Consular Sean Renard had said.

“Pity?” Nick had asked him, feeling a bit apprehensive. “Do you know something I don’t?” He needed this job. His aunt Marie, who had raised him, had recently died, and he was supporting himself on his own.

“I believe I do,” the Captain had said. “I know you’ll be married by the end of the year, and you’ll have to leave it.”

“I’m not even seeing anyone,” Nick had replied. Sometimes he could be a bit slow. “And even if I did meet someone, that’s all the more reason I would need this job.”

“You misunderstand me,” Renard had replied, all the while with a twinkle in his warm brown eyes. “Royal wives don’t work. They socialize,” and with one last wink, he’d left the room. Nick had turned to his co-worker Juliette with a look of shock in his eyes.

“Did Consular Renard just hit on me?” he’d asked her.

“Did he ever! But he’s a Wesson, Nick. I know they’re supposed to be above us or whatever, but I don’t even know if we have compatible _parts_ if you know what I mean.” She made a face. “That kind of mixing’s really not done. Plus, he’s got kind of a rep. Likes slumming it from time to time. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Well how did he manage a rep if we don’t fit together, Juliette? Do you even bother to think for yourself when you hear that kind of gossip?”

“I don’t know. Just sounds like a bad idea. And what a waste. You’d make somebody a good husband,” she said, with a slightly longing look that went completely over Nick’s head.

“What, you don’t think he wants me as his dom?” Nick asked, grinning.

“He said wife. But don’t get your hopes up. I’m telling you. P-l-a-y-e-r.”

But Juliette had been wrong.  

Renard had meant what he said, and every chance he got he proved that to Nick.  Catered dinner for Nick’s department. Boxes of chocolates for no reason at all. A pay raise out of the blue. Then he’d asked him to drinks. Then dinner. Then breakfast. After that, he moved Nick into his place; an oversized penthouse with a view of city lights on one side, crashing ocean waves on the other. After three months of living together, Sean had proposed. And Nick had accepted eagerly. People had all kinds of opinions on their marriage— Nick had been called a gold digger more than a few times—but it had never been like that for him. He really liked Sean. Juliette had been flabbergasted, and even when he invited her to their wedding, she had still tried to naysay their relationship.

“I don’t know Nick, there’s just something about him… he looks like a cheater,” she had actually said to him on his wedding day. Nick had just shaken his head at that point.

It was true, married life had not been everything he’d hoped for. Sean worked _a lot,_ and as his wife, Nick’s job really was just to socialize. And Sean’s circles (mostly high class Vampire society with the occasional successful Wesson) definitely took some getting used to. The Vampires loved making fun of him as often as possible. When Benny had started bringing his VC (Vampire’s Companion) out to events, Nick had been thrilled. It was just nice to have another human around.

Sometimes, Nick would ask Sean what it was he saw in him that made Sean choose Nick out of all the available people in Los Angelus. Everyone had expected him to marry another Wesson, probably a Hexenbiest. Sean would always smile, and say, “because you’re special, Nick. More special than you know. And together we’re going to change the world.” Nick would usually accept that, because it sounded so romantic and made him feel dreamy… but what had Sean really told him?

“Sean?” Nick asked now, walking out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, so that he could finish getting dressed. “What is it that makes me so special to you? Sometimes I get the feeling that you know more about me than I do.”

“Of course I do,” Sean replied, surprising Nick with his candor.

“And exactly how does that work?” Nick asked, anger sparking.

“Baby, you had to be fully vetted before the Royals would allow me to marry you. They had to make sure there was nothing too unsavory in your past, and nothing dangerous.”

“How could I ever be a danger to you?”

“You know, Once Upon a Time there were people who hunted Wesson for sport. An entire family line of them. Can you imagine the implications if the Royal family joined with someone like that?”

“Yeah, but they’re not still around.”

“Are they not?”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“Well, I suppose you _have_ heard of everything.”

“Are you trying to tell me something?”

“I don’t know. Did you ask me a question?”

“You’re just messing with me now!” Nick hit Renard on the shoulder, only half playing.

“Nicky, relax,” said Sean. “Do you want to know why I married you? It’s because you are beautiful, inquisitive, thoughtful, charming, and have an ass that won’t quit. Let’s go to dinner. Because also, I enjoy showing you off.”

And with that, the conversation was closed. But Nick didn’t feel fully satisfied this time. What was it that his husband wasn’t telling him? If he had information about Nick, Nick wanted to know about it. He knew next to nothing about his parents, who had died when he was very young. Aunt Marie had been just as cryptic as Sean had about his family and their past. Nick knew it was time to drop it for now, but that didn’t mean he was letting it go. 


	20. Los Angelus: Sometimes Dreams Come True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lindsey's not getting what he wants from Angelus.

“Tell me how much you love me.”

Lindsey pushed Angelus back on the bed, away from the vein that the Vampire King so desperately wanted at.

“Why do mortals always want to hear those baseless words?” Angelus asked with a shake of his head.

“Because they aren’t supposed to be baseless. They’re supposed to mean something.”

“What that means to me is that you are confusing me with my alter ego, that pantywaist Angel,” Angelus scoffed. “He may have loved you my pet, but I haven’t got it in my cold, dead heart to love anyone.”

“Angel didn’t love me. He had me killed.”

“He had you killed _because_ he loved you. Don’t you see? You were an evil weakness for him. Like human blood, or Darla. You were a great temptation, and he couldn’t trust himself with you any more than he could trust you.”

“I wasn’t going to betray him that night.”

“No, but you would have done it eventually.”

“If that’s what you think, aren’t you worried I’ll betray you then?”

“Oh I know that you will. But I also know that I can handle you, because I don’t love you Lindsey. I just like you a lot. _Like_ like. But not love. Never love. It’s beyond me.”

Lindsey scowled at that. His plan had been perfect. Infiltrate Angel’s mind and bring out Angelus. Seduce Angelus and convince him to help Lindsey return. Take over the world together. All right under Angel’s nose. But he hadn’t expected to feel so empty when all was said and done. Make no mistake, he was thrilled to be corporeal again. And as Angelus’s partner, he finally had the power he’d always dreamed of, the kind of power that had led a young ambitious Texas boy to the likes of a demonic law firm like Wolfram & Heart.

But Angel had gotten under his skin. Angel who had loathed him yet made love to him, who had fought him and saved his life, who had ordered his death at the hand of a flunky. Who had tricked him and never said goodbye. And dammit, that was who Lindsey wanted. Not Angelus, the soulless magnificent bastard who thrived on others’ misfortune and could have traded Lindsey for just about any hot blooded bubble butt twink with a dark side.

Angelus was on him again, mouth on the crook where his shoulder met his neck, sharp teeth sinking in but close to the bone, where it hurt. Angelus always wanted it to hurt, that was part of the thrill for him, he got off on it. The fangs had a venom, it always felt good, coursing through Lindsey’s veins and connecting them as one paradox of a being, living and dead, knowing each other’s secrets in the brief moments of the animal embrace, but the pain was always there as well, reminding him that this man, this _vampire_ of his would never be happy unless someone else was hurting.

Sometimes, if Angelus drank long enough, if he took Lindsey too far, to the brink of falling out of life, Lindsey would see Angel, he would glimpse him, hiding in the shadows of Angelus’s subconscious, banished to the dark recesses of his own mind and body, waiting for a moment to break free. Lindsey lived for those moments. It was the closest he got to the man he was really in love with, and sometimes he wondered if he could set Angel free, would he do it? But if he did it, that would no doubt mean the end to everything else, to the power, to the sex and the connection and spending his hours gazing at that brooding brow and black, glossy locks, the sarcastic mouth, his voice saying Lindsey’s name… it was all a grand torture, and Lindsey was not brave enough to battle it, not today. So he sunk into the pleasure and the pain, wondering how far Angelus would take him, and hoping for a glimpse of Angel before he skirted death.

 It was not to happen today, however, because they were interrupted by the boy. Lindsey was nervous about him. Connor was easily manipulated, but still had an instinct that could suss out wrong. As it was, he had no memory of Angel. Nobody did. And it needed to stay that way.

“Ah, gross!” Connor announced, entering their bedchamber without so much as a knock. He was spoiled, demanding, and the tag along oaf of a boyfriend that Angelus had assigned him wasn’t much better. That had been a mistake for sure. Angelus had said he wanted someone he didn’t already know, someone strong enough to look out for Connor so that he didn’t have to, someone young enough and good looking enough to not embarrass the soon to be royal family. Someone who would keep Connor occupied so that he wouldn’t be in their hair much. Well, the last part wasn’t holding up so well, but the rest of him was spot on: a tall, fiercely built guy in his twenties with black hair and crest white smile. Clark was an alien, but he’d been on earth since he was a very small child. It was fitting that he would be with Connor, the resident Anomaly. Clark was the last of his race, and there was no record of a human born to vampires with special attributes (like hearing, scent, speed and strength), so they were both one of a kind. And in Lindsey’s opinion, it made them kind of full of themselves.

“Nobody invited you in here,” Lindsey said, pushing Angelus off of him. Angelus let him do it, otherwise he never would have been able to. Angelus glowered at his son, Lindsey’s blood still dripping from his lips.

“What do you want, boyo?” he asked Connor. Clark barely hid his disgust at the blood. He had a moral righteousness that Lindsey and Angelus both could have done without.

“Money. Clark and I are bar hopping and some of the pubs refuse to serve me on credit anymore, because last month you didn’t pay half of them back.”

“I never said I had a beer tab for you and your sidekick.”

“Hey,” said Clark all half-assed indignation. “Sidekick?”

“Don’t worry about it, babylove,” Connor said.

“Besides,” Angelus continued, “I’m sure they were padding the figures, because there’s no way anyone could drink as much as they were billing me for.”

“It takes a lot to get me drunk,” offered Clark.

“Me as well, dad. Aliens and Anomalies require more than the average frat brat.”

“Yeah, okay whatever. Lindsey, get them some money so they’ll go away.”

Lindsey sighed audibly but rose to retrieve his wallet. He had gotten everything he’d wished for. And yet he felt like none of it was turning out as planned.


	21. Los Angelus: Game Changers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reid awakens to a startling discovery. Meanwhile, an angel walks into a bar...

“Doctor. Doctor, are you okay?”

Reid blinked, clearing his vision. He was in a hospital, that much he could tell. The sounds of bleeping machines dealing out death sentences, overhead paging of various codes, the rattle of gurneys pushing into elevators. If he was in a hospital… _Morgan_. Morgan had made it to the hospital. Maybe, just maybe…

“I- I’m fine,” Reid said to the pretty blonde girl in scrubs looking at him expectantly.

“It’s just that you looked like you were going to pass out.”

“Morgan… Where’s Morgan?”

She scrunched up her freckled nose.

“Do you mean Derek?”

“Yes. Derek Morgan. He is here, right?”

“I think he’s still here…” he saw her motioning at another girl, making some kind of gesture they both seemed to understand. “Why don’t you sit down, Spence.”

_Spence? That was weird. Only JJ called him that._ But this wasn’t JJ. This wasn’t anyone he knew. But she seemed to know him though. Her concern for him seemed real enough.  He followed her prompts and sat down on a nearby bench. _Was he wearing scrubs?_ His knees were clad in the mid blue cotton. He should have been covered in blood… In Morgan’s blood.

“Spencer?”

Reid felt his heart leap. It was unbelievable. Morgan was coming towards him, standing on his own, very much alive. He was wearing some kind of uniform that Reid didn’t recognize. As Morgan got closer, Reid stood to meet him. He wore a very concerned look on his face.

“Is everything okay?” Morgan asked him. _Wait, come again?_

“Morgan, how are you walking about okay? Not that I’m complaining, but I thought that was it. What happened to everybody else?”

“Baby, what are you talking about?” Morgan asked him, a crease forming between his deep brown eyes.

Reid suddenly felt very confused. Morgan should have been dead, or at least in emergency surgery as doctors tried desperately to save him. Reid should have been answering questions about what they had all been through, handing over his blood soaked clothes to evidence. What hospital was this? And how had they gotten here? What had happened to the swirling whirlpool that the world had been turning into? Had he been hallucinating everything? Morgan was easing him back onto the bench and sitting next to him, taking Reid’s left hand in both of his. 

“Spencer, you look very confused,” Morgan said. “You seemed fine just before I left you. What is it that’s going on with you?”

“I seemed fine… you mean just now?”

“Not five minutes ago when I dropped you back off here. Do you think there might have been walnuts in your lunch somehow? You always have a bad reaction to walnuts.”

“Yeah, I’m allergic to walnuts… I didn’t even know you knew that…” Reid said, trying to come to terms with whatever it was that was happening. He felt as though he was on a different page than everyone else in the room. Morgan was stroking his hand, playing with one of Reid’s fingers. There was a ring on it, and Morgan was turning it around and around, in an oddly comforting way. Wait, he never wore a ring, not any ring. He looked down at his hand and saw the gold band on his left ring finger. _A wedding band._ He looked up at Morgan suddenly.

“Are we married?”

“Are you seriously asking me that?” Morgan looked really worried now. He turned to the blonde in the scrubs. “Did he fall? Hit his head maybe?”

“No,” she said, seemingly bewildered. “He did look dizzy for a minute. I thought he was going to pass out. But then he said he was okay. But he’s been acting weird ever since.”

“You’re starting to scare me baby, you realize that?” Morgan said seriously. Reid was surreptitiously looking at Morgan’s left hand as well. There it was. A matching gold band. With a sudden stroke of inspiration, Reid grabbed at the front of his shirt and felt a lanyard hanging there with a badge of some sort. He looked at it. There was his picture all right. Hair too long with a mind of its own, goofy smile that wasn’t ready for the camera flash, and his name and title. Dr. Spencer Morgan-Reid. Broad Spectrum Surgeon, Class H. He looked up at Morgan again, and this time the slim gold nameplate on his breast pocket caught his eye. D. Morgan-Reid: Peace Officer. “ _Me and Morgan are hyphenated,”_ Reid thought. “ _How is this possible?”_

And then came another thought, or maybe it was a memory, But Reid heard it clearly in his mind, “ _We’re leaving this mortal coil, dearies, and where we’re going , I’ll be calling the shots.”_ Who had said that? Angel, the one who owned the hotel. “ _No, the King,”_ said a new voice inside his head. One that was going to try and confuse him, he could tell. Reid decided to ignore that one.

“Okay, I’m going to take you home,” Morgan said, and Reid realized he hadn’t responded to Morgan’s last statement.

“No, I- I’m okay,” Reid said, thinking it was probably too late to put Derek’s mind at ease at this point, but trying anyway. “I just… I don’t know exactly. I got kind of confused for a minute.”

“What’s confusing you? Do you know where you are?”

“Of course. I’m at the hospital. At work.”

“And please tell me you remember being married to me.” Reid’s heart skipped a beat. This was bizzaro land, no doubt. But he and Morgan were _married._ It was too good to be true. Then another thought came to him. “ _When the bean finds a blank, it goes with the loudest wish in the room_.” The Vampire ( _the King)_ had said that. But Reid had not bothered to wish, he had been too busy with Morgan… with Morgan _dying_ in his arms… but did a wish have to be spoken to be loud? Perhaps not.

“Of course I remember that, Morgan.”

“Why do you keep calling me Morgan? I don’t think you’ve called me that since the wedding.”

“What? Oh, I don’t know. Can’t I call you that once in a while? I’m sure I’ve done it since.”

“Don’t lie to me. You’re having issues, aren’t you?”

“I told you, I’m just not feeling that well.”

“Well you aren’t going to operate on anybody today, that’s for damn sure,” Morgan—er—Derek said to him. Derek turned to the blonde again. “I’m taking him home. I don’t think this is serious, he’s just exhausted.”

“He did just do back to back doubles with that ten car pileup,” she said understandingly. “Are you sure you can miss work though Officer?”

“Don’t worry about me. Just, cover for him, okay Amy?”

“You got it,” she replied. Looked a little melty at Morgan. Morgan turned back to Reid.

“Okay,” he said, standing up and prompting Reid to do the same. “Let’s go wifey. We’re cutting out early.”

_Wifey. Not kid, not once kid. First baby, and now wifey. “This is my wish,”_ Reid thought, but made sure to keep it to himself. He let Morgan lead him out to the parking garage. Thank god he was doing this; Reid probably never would have found his way home on his own.

 

*          *          *

 

Sam Winchester was in a pissy mood by the time he got to the Howling. Why had Dean done this? A blood slave??? Sure, Sam knew they were called _Vampire’s Companions_ now. He had been on the committee that had decided all those things. But he had never in his life thought that his brother would have fallen into one of those bogus indentured servitude agreements. It had been one of the many compromises one had to make when negotiating for human rights. By agreeing to the “Vampire’s Companion” bit, they had gotten the crown to agree to allow human Peace Officers, an outfit not unlike police who patrolled the streets with human interests in mind. And it was comprised of humans, so that meant more jobs as well.

The peace officers had been an amazing asset to human protection, and Sam had thought it was definitely worth the compromise, especially since it was stipulated that the VC contracts had to be entered into willingly. Of course, that meant that any idiot fang banger that thought their vamp was different from the rest could wind up trading away their absolute freedom for the rest of their lives. Of course these days humans didn’t share absolute freedoms with the rest of the beings in Los Angelus anyway, so maybe it was still for the best. Except for the part of his brother being one of those idiot fang bangers.

“Why so blue Sammy?”

Monroe, his boss, could catch on to a mood in five seconds flat. Sam loved Monroe because he was also incredibly tall and had a nice, easy demeanor ninety-five percent of the time. The other five percent he was a straight up bad ass.

“I went by to see Dean before I came in today,” Sam replied, grabbing a bar mop and attacking a tiny smudge like it was one of Lady Macbeth’s spots.

“Ah. Say no more, friend; I know why you’re pissed about it. But you know, your brother seems really happy with Benny, don’t you think?”

“He’s acting like he’s on some kind of moron’s honeymoon, if that’s what you mean.”

“Look, I know you wish Dean would have stayed at the bar and stayed out of all Vampire’s lives. But the truth is, I think he really likes Benny. And Benny’s not such a bad guy, for a Vampire anyway. It could have been worse. He could have run off with a Hexenbiest Royal.”

“Still on that?” Sam said with a smile.

“I can’t help it. I am so infatuated with the latest Renard. If I’d known he would have dated a Wesson…”

“Consular Renard is not just any Wesson.”

“I know. He’s a Wesson of the jackass variety. I’m sorry Sam, but in my heart of hearts I believe that Nick and I belong together. So you’re stuck working with a perpetually blue Blutbad,” Monroe shook his head sheepishly. “I guess that’s why I want you to go easy on Dean. Sometimes you fall for an unconventional choice. Dean’s lucky he can make his happen. It wasn’t going to be just you and your brother forever.”

“I know that.”

“Yeah, you know it… but you still miss it.”

“I miss him. I hate living in Dad’s house alone.”

“Well maybe what you need to do is find someone else to move in there with you. If you get my drift.” Monroe winked conspiratorially.

“Yeah, maybe,” Sam said bitterly. They were interrupted by the clanging of the bar door, which was only audible because it was early yet, and the bar was next to empty. A man walked in, looked at Sam with a note of thankful recognition, and headed straight for him. He wore an unassuming business suit and a tan colored trench coat. Something about his presence held a power that belied the modest appearance, and Sam guessed that if he was a human, he wasn’t entirely so.

“Sam,” he said, throwing Sam off guard because this guy seemed to know him but the feeling wasn’t mutual. “I can’t seem to locate Dean,” the man said next. His voice was low, serious. “I got one short glimpse of him, but it was… unsettling. I’m not sure it was real.” He looked at Sam expectantly.

“Um…” Sam said, furrowing his brow and chewing his lip. He glanced at Monroe. Monroe gave him a very unhelpful shrug, and moseyed on down the bar to refill a draft beer for a regular. Sam looked back at the man. “Do I know you?” he asked.

“Sam, it’s Castiel. Is my vessel incomplete somehow?” He looked past Sam to the mirror behind the bar; looked satisfied. “No, that’s the body you’re familiar with. Jimmy Novak.”

“Who? I don’t understand.”

“You do not know me…” It was more of a realization than a question.

“I’m sorry man, I don’t,” Sam said.

“This is a problem. Where is Dean?”

“You know my brother?”

“Of course I know your brother. He is the sole reason I am here. Where is he?”

“At dinner with some friends. I would guess.”

“Friends? What… friends?”

“Why do you say ‘friends’ like it’s a foreign word?”

“It’s just that I have never known Dean to have any. Not, I should say, in the typical way of man.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you about that.”

“You are both under the magic of this realm. That’s the only explanation. I thought that you would have avoided it somehow… you are both so often exceptions.”

“You are not making any sense, man.”

“Perhaps I will after this.”

Castiel put a hand on Sam’s forehead, and Sam felt a rush of energy shoot through his body, saw a rush of confusing images in his mind’s eye, and then came back to present, where Castiel was now looking at him expectantly again.

“What was that?” Sam asked. “What did you do?”

“You don’t know?”

“How would I know? I saw some images, you might have been in some of them, but I can’t remember—and my heart’s beating like I just did an eight ball with my college debate team, but other that…”

“Damn it. It’s not sticking. My power is being thwarted here.”

“What are you, exactly?”

“I am an Angel of The Lord.”

“Of The Lord. As in…” Sam looked up at the ceiling.

“Yes. That one.”

“Well in case you haven’t noticed,” Sam said, “God don’t live here anymore.”

“God’s power is omnipotent in all realms. However, it appears it is not his will that brought me here. Angels of course, are not omnipotent. And neither is Dean Winchester.”

“How exactly do you think you know my brother and I?”

“I can’t explain that yet. Will Dean come to you eventually?”

“Here at the bar? Usually. But lately things have been changing.”

“I have a feeling that providence will bring him in. I’ll just wait.”

“Sure… but if you’re waiting in the bar, you’re going to have to order something.”

“Fine. Give me liquid in a glass. Nothing fermented, I’ve got to be on good behavior.”

“Liquid in a glass, coming right up,” Sam said, pouring the man some cranberry juice and setting it before him. Castiel sat still, gazing at some unknown story in his head, and waited.

 

*          *          *

 

Reid looked around the loft apartment in wonder. There before him was a testament to what he had always known could be possible: the ultimate togetherness of Derek Morgan and Spencer Reid. The interior design was definitely more Derek: fresh, urbanly cool art, showpiece coffee table, modern color scheme. But there were also bookshelves laden with tomes of every genre imaginable: literature, physics, philosophy, history. On the wall over the dining room table was painted a quote that said:

_“_ _A house is not a_ _home_ _unless it contains_

_food_ _and_ _fire_

_for the_ _mind_

_as well as the_ _body_ _.”_

_~Benjamin Franklin_

There were pictures, too. Morgan’s mom and sisters and Reid’s mother, and piles of photos of the two of them together. Laughing, happy shots telling somebody’s love story, culminating with the black and white photo placed in high esteem on the piano where suits and a top hat told the world that this was it—these two were forever. Reid found himself standing in front of that picture in awe, digesting the reality of this life.

“I still can’t believe you wore Chuck Taylors to our wedding,” Derek said, standing just behind him and wrapping both arms around Reid. Derek rested his chin of Reid’s shoulder. “I’m not sure my mother will ever forgive you for that, but I think it’s part of your charm, Spencer.” Hearing Morgan use his first name was going to take some getting used to.

“You can’t even see my shoes in this picture,” Reid said.

“No, but we all know they’re there,” Derek said with a faint chuckle. He nuzzled at Reid’s neck. “Are you okay, baby? You wanna tell me what was going on down at the hospital?”

_Damn._ Reid was starting to get a clearer picture about what was going on, but he had not yet figured out how to act on everything. Why was it that he seemed to know that things had changed, that they were somewhere new, and yet Morgan had no clue? Had Morgan even come with him? Or was “his” Derek Morgan back in his old world, dying on the floor of a privately owned hotel? Reid needed to get to the bottom of these questions, but he couldn’t help but want to dwell on the scenario that was his deepest wishes come to life.

“I don’t know exactly,” was his weak reply. Morgan turned him around to they could look into each other’s eyes.

“Do you have a headache?” He asked pointedly.

“No,” Reid answered honestly.

“You know I have to ask. I don’t want you losing touch. I can’t go through that again.”

Reid bit his lip. That sounded loaded. Go through what again, exactly? Losing touch? Headaches? That didn’t sound like something out of his greatest wish, more like something out of his greatest fears. He needed time alone in this apartment to figure out their story, so he could make better decisions.

“Derek, you worry too much. I kinda spaced out for a minute, but like you said, I’m exhausted. The human body can only endure so much stressed, and coupled with dehydration and sleep deprivation, of course I was going to falter eventually. I’m sorry I scared you, baby. But I’m okay now, I promise.” He looked at him with the most earnest face he could muster. Morgan took Reid’s head in his hands and pushed a stray curl out of his face with his thumb.

“Okay,” Derek said, kissing Reid on the lips deeply. Reid went immediately light headed and wrapped his arms around Morgan to steady himself. _This was really happening. He was kissing Derek Morgan._ It hadn’t all come about the way that he thought it would, but here they were, nonetheless, kissing in each other’s arms. Reid felt his body revving up the way he knew that it would. All the uncertainty of the situation began to melt away as they kissed, the heat between them rising, Reid’s heart pounding, his blood coursing, his nerve endings tingling from the center of his soul to his fingertips and toes.

“I love you so much,” he murmured into Derek’s mouth, running his hand across the rough exterior of Derek’s closely shaved head, loving the texture of it on the palm of his hand loving the feel of Derek’s hand holding strong on the small of his back, the other getting lost in the tangles of his unruly mane. He could have done this for hours, for days on end, it was all he had ever wanted out of the fates, but then Derek pulled away gently.

“Okay, this is getting dangerously close to you not resting,” he said, with a sly smile.

“I don’t need rest, I only need you,” Reid replied, and he meant it. He wanted Morgan, all of him. But Morgan, whom Reid had to remind himself had assumingly done this with him before, had other ideas.

“Come on baby. Lie down and get some sleep. If you’re really okay, I should go finish out my shift.”

“That’s right, you’re skipping work for me.”

“And you are definitely worth it, but I seem to be more of a distraction right now than a help. So I want you out of these clothes…” Derek began, leading Reid into what he assumed was their bedroom. “…and into those pj’s I never let you keep on for long,” he said. “You can wear them till I get back from work.”

“You’re so generous,” Reid said, pouting slightly.

Morgan wrapped his arms around him in one more tight embrace.

“Promise me you’ll sleep?” he said.

“Okay, I promise,” Reid assured him. Morgan leaned his forehead up against Reid’s.

“You swear this isn’t a head thing?” he half whispered at him.

“I swear. Just exhausted.”

Morgan looked satisfied.

“All right. I gotta go then.” He kissed Reid once more on the lips, this time short and sweet though. “Love you wifey,” he said, squeezing Reid’s left hand and leaving for work. Reid sat on the bed, his mind wrought with a mixing of emotions. What was real? Where was he? And was he here forever? Because if he was, than this was as real as it was going to get. Why did he remember a past that Morgan obviously did not? And would he remember it forever, or would it slip away from him? If he could get back to his world, did he want to? It was all so confusing. It was probably a good thing that Derek had left. But the last thing Spencer Reid was going to do right now was sleep.


	22. Words With Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dinner party at the Salvatores gets everybody together. Later, the king has a job for Damon.

“You call us monsters, but you eat chunks of charred dead flesh, smother it with a sauce made out of the food it produces for its young and call it gourmet,” said Katherine Pierce, lazily drinking blood out of a wine glass. Dean looked down at his steak with béarnaise sauce, shrugged, and took a healthy bite.

“I kind of miss real food,” said Elena Gilbert, Katherine’s identical twin from another generation, and opposite in every other way.

“Liar, you said you gagged at the thought of it,” Katherine challenged her.

“I do, but I _wish_ I wanted it,” Elena clarified.

“You’re newbie is showing, love,” Katherine replied, tweaking Elena’s nose playfully.

“Are you two going to make out?” Asked Damon. “Because frankly, I’m cool with that.”

“Not until the cheese course, dear,” said Katherine sarcastically.

“That’s a real shame,” Damon said with his patented twisted smile. He glanced over at Stefan and was pleased to see the discomfort the subject had afforded his brother.

“Wait, are they like, a couple?” Dean asked around his current mouthful. “I thought they were twins.”

“We _are_ twins,” Katherine said, giving Dean a look like, _you poor uneducated human male._ “But we’re not sisters, if that’s what you were thinking you dirty boy.” Elena giggled.

“Katherine and Elena are doppelgangers,” said Stefan irritably.

Stefan _hated_ it that Elena and Katherine were now romantically linked. Sure, it was a bit scandal worthy as their likeness meant they must have been related _somehow_ throughout the centuries of generations, but they were hardly the twin sisters they looked like. What bothered Stefan about it was the fact that they were both his exes. He took their being together as a collective slap in his face. Katherine was such a narcissist that it wasn’t that surprising, really. As Elena’s sire, she held a certain power over the younger vampire, and that power was often alluring. Both Stefan and Damon knew that better than most. It didn’t make Stefan feel any better though.

“Doppelgangers, that’s kind of rare, isn’t it?” asked Nick.

“Extremely,” said Katherine proudly. “We’re the only set of vampires that I know of,” she said. “That’s why the King lets us live in the palace,” she bragged. “He finds us ‘completely delightful.’”

“Or completely compliant,” Damon snarked. “I hear the queen wants to off both your heads.”

“What is he talking about?” asked Elena, looking a mite worried.

“Baseless gossip,” Katherine assured her.

“So Sean,” said Alaric, changing the subject to avoid the dramatic spectacular that Damon was going for, “What’s going on with that Niechenshlaugn case? Will he really be deported? Because I can’t remember anyone ever getting deportation once Angelus took control.”

“It’s a sticky situation,” said Renard. “Human sacrifice is part of Niechenshlaugn tradition to worship their gods. That Winchester dick at the Human Consulate wants him beheaded, but that’s a violation of his Wesson rights to religious freedom. Deportation is a compromise neither office is really happy with, but…”

“Yeah, well that Niechen… Niesinko… that Wesson _dick_ completely violated that human’s right to breathe, eat, and fuck,” said Dean, anger squeezing his throat tight. Renard looked not at Dean, but at Benny, as though he was letting his toddler run away with the conversation. Benny merely shrugged as though Dean had a point. Renard then turned his gaze toward Dean.

“I’m not surprised you would see it that way,” he began patronizingly.

“Why, because I’m a human, or because you called my brother a dick?”

“Your brother?”

“Oh did I not formally introduce you?” asked Benny, with an amused smile now. “Consular Sean Renard, meet Dean Winchester.”

Dean glared at Renard.

“Well I’m sorry if I offended you, but your brother is being a really big pain in my ass right now.”

“Remind me to thank him when I see him later,” Dean barked.  He seemed to ponder something for a moment, then spoke again. “You know,” he said, calmer now, earnestly, “I thought you would be a little more progressive, being married to a human and all. What do you think about this case, Nick?”

“Sean knows how I feel,” said Nick. “I feel like it was murder. As all humans do, I’d expect. But I have to admit that the truth is there is not law concerning it. If the Niechenshlaugn didn’t know what he was doing was wrong—“

“—How do you not know something like that?”

“Sean says he grew up in a rural area.”

“Nowhere in L.A. is that rural. Truth is, if he was a human he’d have been dead before the end of the day. Deportation. That’s such shit. I hope Sammy wipes the floor with your damn wienershnitzel.”

“Well I think they should kill him, just to set an example,” said Alaric.

“I think they should kill him just because killing is so much fun,” said Katherine.

“I’m with the dirty doppelganger,” said Damon.

“Well it’s up to my office to try and protect my people,” said Sean.

“At the end of the day,” said Stefan, “It’s not going to matter what either humans or Wesson think. They are going to fight this thing out in the courts until the King grows tired of it and makes a decree. And since I’ve never heard of anyone ever being banished from Los Angeles, but we are all aware of how bloodthirsty Angelus is…”

“Off with his head!” cried Katherine dramatically. All the vampires at the table laughed, as was their luxury as the top of the current food chain.

Sean and Dean continued to glare at each other over their gourmet plates. Benny reached a hand down under the table and squeezed Dean’s crotch. Dean turned to look at him with what he meant to be indignation, but ended up being a big ole grin.

“Really?” he said.

“Worked, didn’t it? I know my boy.” Benny winked.

“You want me to chill out.”

“I want you to have a good time. And judging by the earful the Consulate is getting from his wife, Lady Renard wants the same thing I do.” He nodded toward Sean and Nick, and sure enough, Nick was whispering something fiercely into Sean’s ear.

“You know Benny; I sometimes get a feeling about people,” said Dean.

“Is that right?”

“Yup. You know what I get from “Lady” Renard?”

“What’s that?”

“That he could kick the Consular’s ass if he wanted to. And your ass if he heard you calling him a lady. Just fyi.”

“That twink?”

“You betcha. I bet that’s what they say about me. Twink.” Dean shook his head.

“You think you could kick my ass, prettyboy?” Benny scoffed.

“Oh of course not, master. Because you’ve addled my brain and weakened my limbs with all that good fucking of yours.”

“Did I hear somebody say fucking?” Asked Damon excitedly. “This dinner party may just be looking up.”

A sudden burst of music interrupted the pattering of laughter at Damon’s remark. INXS with “ _Devil Inside.”_

“Damn it, I’ve got to answer that one,” Damon groaned. He put the phone to his ear, and with a spectacular eye roll, greeted, “Your highness?”

Glances about the room were abundant. It was call from the king. Damon said very little, mostly “I see” an “of course.” Then he hung up the phone and set it down.

“I’ve got to run, kids, it’s been real,” he said, standing and looking at Alaric. “I’ve been summoned. Care to join me, lover?”

“Of course,” Alaric agreed.

Sean Renard looked extremely curious.

“Is everything okay at the palace?” He asked.

“I couldn’t say,” Damon answered him honestly. “He didn’t give me much, just that I needed to see him, and it was urgent.”

“Urgent,” said Renard. “Well let me know if I can be of any assistance.”

“I will, Sean,” Damon said.

Dean looked at Benny. “Howling Bar?” he suggested, seeing as it appeared their dinner plans were cut short.

“Whatever you want, sugar,” Benny indulged, despite the fact that he knew they’d have to hang out with Sam.

“How about we come along?” Nick suggested. Sean frowned.

“You want to go to that Wesson bar?” he asked, his opinion of the place clear across his face.

“Sure. I used to go all the time when I worked at the consulate. We would all go shoot pool there after work. The owner’s pretty cool.”

“Monroe is awesome,” Dean agreed. “You guys should come. Or at least Nick should come. Consular Renard might be too busy getting murderers off the hook.”

“Oh let’s leave the politics out of it and just get drunk,” said Nick. Dean grinned at him in return.

“I can get behind that, Nick. First round’s on me,” he offered, knowing that Monroe would give it to him on the house.

“Benny, the night is young! You sure you want to spend it holed up in a dingy beer hall when you could be hunting with the likes of us?” Katherine asked coyly. “It’s past curfew…” she tempted.

“Sorry, hun, I’m a one jugular man,” Benny replied, rubbing a hand up one side of Dean’s neck.

“How very _civilized_ of you,” Katherine said drily.

“What about you, Stefan?” Elena asked, ever trying to remain friends.

“Pass,” said Stefan. “You know I don’t approve of that kind of lifestyle. You never used to either.”

“Oh, piss in your own wheaties for a change,” said Katherine, giving Stefan an eye roll of her own and a dismissive wave. “Let’s go gorgeous,” she said, clasping Elena’s hand and leading her out into the night.

“Why is it that they refuse to make out in front of me?” Damon said, looking after them longingly.

“Because they know you’d enjoy it too much,” said Alaric. “And that outweighs sticking it to Stefan, since he’s so easy.”

“I’d invite you along brother, but the king doesn’t trust you.”

“No matter, I’d rather just be by myself tonight,” said Stefan morosely.

“Suit yourself,” said Benny.

“He’s only happy when it rains,” Dean informed the group in an extremely humorous deadpan.

“Howling Bar for the rest of us?” said Nick, ignoring the slight grimace from his well to do husband.

“Aoooo!” Benny howled, slinging an arm around Dean as they both headed out happily. “You know,” said Benny, “if I wasn’t such a damn fine vampire, I think I’d make a pretty good werewolf.”

“One beast at a time, buddy,” Dean said, laughing.

 

*          *          *

 

Angelus sat at the head of his very long, intricately carved black oak table. No one else was at it, so he posed a beautifully dramatic scene, with his feet propped up irreverently strapped in black leather and steel, his brow brooding as only he could manage. A girl lay beheaded at his feet, red blood soaking the fabric of her pink silk dress, and collecting on a silver tray that she had no doubt been holding when her life was cut short. Her head, as mass of black curls and startled brown eyes gazed up at Damon as he entered the room.

“Bad news?” he asked Angelus, motioning at the two pieces of corpse.

“I know, I’ve got to stop shooting the messenger,” Angelus responded. Can one of you clean her up? Lindsey’s gonna kill me if he sees I’ve offed another one.”

Damon looked at Alaric. “All you, newbie.” He grinned.

“Of course it is,” said Alaric, grabbing the head by the hair and moving to retrieve the rest of her.

“Damon,” said Angelus. “Come sit.” Damon went over and sat in the chair to the right of the king. Angelus looked at him wearily. “There is a disturbance in the kingdom, and nobody is safe.” He said.

“A disturbance? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know what I mean. This came from the oracle. Via the headless prom queen. There is a disturbance and it’s putting my kingdom in jeopardy.”

“Is it a person?”

“I fear it must be. Someone must be new here. Someone who seeks to challenge me. I don’t know who it is. But I’m tasking you with finding out.”

“You want me to find out who—if it even is a person—is here to undermine your authority? With all due respect, sire-“

“—have you ever noticed that when people start sentences with “all due respect” the statements usually contain none of the respect that is due? I don’t care what your objections are, Damon. Either solve my problem or tell me now that you are unable to do so. That of course, will be a choice made at your own risk.” Damon swallowed, thinking about the messenger that Alaric was cleaning up off the dining room floor.

“Right,” he said, making his choice quickly. “What _exactly_ did the oracle tell you?”

“There is a disturbance in the kingdom. A strange power comes, and soon all that we hold true may be thrown asunder.”

“A strange power? Like what?”

“Yeah, that’s kind of your job to find out. And don’t screw it up. You’ve got as much riding on this as I do.”

“Come again?”

“Just trust me on that. I swear it. On your lover’s grave.”

“You’re threatening Alaric?”

“I don’t have to. The oracle already did. Now stop trying to understand my cryptic commentary and go find the new kid in town that’s trying to tear apart my damn kingdom.”

Damon pursed his lips to keep them quiet, and dug his fingernails into is palms to keep from slashing them across Angelus’s face. The king could be infuriating sometimes. And he knew that Damon’s Achilles heel was Alaric. Alaric was coming back into the room now, the body of the messenger apparently disposed of.

“What’d I miss?” he asked.

“The king has sent us on a wild goose chase, my love,” Damon informed him. “Only he actually expects us to bring back a goose.”

“Cool by me,” said Alaric. “I’ve got a great fondness for birds.”


	23. Howling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the Howling Bar, Dean sees Cas for the first time, and Nick sees something that no one else can.

_I go walking down there, I go searching down there,_  
There's nothing left for you and me.  
I go walking down there, I go searching down there,  
But nobody there remembers me.  
It dosen't matter now to me cause I lost my baby.  
Nothing means that much to me without my baby anyway.  
Look at all you lucky people, think of all the things you do.  
Look at all you happy people, wish I could be like you. 

_~Chris Isaak_

Castiel never minded waiting. Being an angel, he’d been around for millennia. A few hours were nothing. And even among the angels, Castiel was known for his patience. What he wasn’t that comfortable with, however, was the anxiety. He had not seen Dean since purgatory, and their parting had not exactly been an easy one. Dean had left with Benny, and the one glimpse he had been afforded of Dean since he had come to this world had been polluted with that vampire, whom for reasons unknown to Cas seemed to be Dean’s partner du jour. He wanted to ask Sam about how that had come to pass, but Sam having no idea that they were in a world that had been created by magic and dark power made things a little more difficult. Even when Cas had given Sam the Truth Shot to the head, it hadn’t stuck. There was much to understand about this new situation, but his mind was lousy with this damned _anxiety._

What if Dean didn’t know him any more than Sam did? What would he think of Cas, without their shared history? He knew that Dean had forgiven him for what had gone down in purgatory; otherwise Cas never would have come here. But he had been suspicious of something growing between Dean and Benny even back then. What if Benny was Dean’s wish? What if Castiel had let him down one too many times? These thoughts swirled around in his head like a siren, warning of heartache ahead. He never should have become so involved with a human being, he knew that moral well. But rejecting the “should haves” was something he had learned from Dean that he wasn’t willing to part with. He didn’t exactly have free will, but a rebellious angel was better than a sheep.

Sam was not any more happy with the situation. It was clear by his body language today that things were not to his liking, even though he was clueless about the disruption of their true lives. Cas listened in on his scraps of conversation with the Butbad between customers. It seemed as though Dean had made some kind of deal with Benny, some kind of commitment. He was allowing the vampire to drink his blood. The thought sent Castiel’s blood boiling, but he tried to maintain a cool head.

He knew it immediately when Dean arrived at the bar. Cas knew his scent before seeing him, recognized his presence as well. Bountiful emotion welled up inside of him, and he could not help it, he flashed from his seat at the bar and stood directly in front of Dean so that he could look at him closely, steep in the blue of his eyes and count every freckle dancing across his nose.

“Whoa—hey buddy,” Dean said, not an ounce of recognition, and Castiel’s heart plummeted, even though he had been expecting this reaction.

“Dean,” he said, hoping that maybe the sound of his voice would trigger something, but he saw immediately that there was nothing, nothing had been changed.

“Do I know you?” Dean asked, and then the other one stepped between them, Benny. Benny reeked of aggression as he loomed over Castiel. “Hey,” Dean said in protest, clearly not liking to be “protected” or “guarded” in such a condescending manner.

“You lose something boy?” Benny asked Cas. He sniffed the air, trying to determine Castiel’s species. His eyes narrowed when he came up short. Cas looked past him to Dean, who had been forced back a step or two. He looked beautiful. Cas’s eyes trailed his lips and chin, cheekbones, eyebrows, his beauty as always was breathtaking. Some of God’s finest work.

“I need to talk to you,” he said to Dean, ignoring the two hundred pound Vampire between them.

“And who the hell are you?” Dean asked, unconvinced. “Why do you know my name?”

“I’ll explain that when we talk, Dean.”

“You can talk to him if I say you can,” said Benny. “And I say anything your scrawny ass wants to say to my companion, you can say in front of me.”

“Don’t be like that,” Dean said to Benny.

“What, you want to tell secrets with this Colombo looking motherfucker?”

“I don’t really understand why you’re so obviously threatened by him,” Dean said questioningly. “I don’t even know him.”

Honestly, Benny didn’t know why he was so threatened by this guy either. Maybe it was because he couldn’t place his species, but that wasn’t all it was. Benny just had a sneaking suspicion that with this one, there was much more than met the eye.

“Benny, I’m gonna talk to him. Why don’t you go to the bar and tell Sammy to fix you a drink,” Dean said with finality.

“Is everything okay over here?” Sean Renard and Nick had just joined them, and it was obvious that Benny and Cas had their horns up.

“Everything’s cool,” said Dean. Will you guys take Benny up to the bar and order some drinks, on me? Get me a double Jack while you’re at it, I’ll be up in just a second.”

Renard looked at Benny for approval. Benny looked once more at Dean, who stared him down quickly. The three of them retreated to the bar. Dean looked back at Castiel.

“Okay, stranger. Now what is so important that you had to rile things up between my old man and me? He’s got a temper, that one. You don’t want on his bad side.”

“I could care less about that vampire,” Castiel replied, still a bit testy from the standoff. “He should have no say over your decisions.”

“Well, I’m his VC, so… yeah he has a say. But only a little one,” Dean said, with a grin and a wink. “Now how is it I am supposed to know you?”

“We have saved the world together more than a few times,” Cas replied earnestly.

“And your name is?”

“Of course. I am Castiel.”

“I have never met you in my life.”

“On the contrary, we are extremely close, Dean Winchester. So close it has gotten us into trouble on more than one occasion. You just don’t remember it right now.”

“And why wouldn’t I remember it? Look, you are gonna have to start making sense in about five more seconds, otherwise I don’t care _how_ cute you are, I’m going back to my friends.”

“You think I’m cute?”

“That is not the point. But yes, I actually find you quite attractive. I’m not sure why. You’re not really my type.”

“And what’s your type?”

“Hard bodies. Brute force alpha males. Like myself.”

“You are underestimating me. But that’s okay. This is only temporary.”

“Is that so?”

“Dean, you are being deceived. I am going to try and show you that now.”

“Oh yeah? How—“ Dean was silenced as Cas put a hand on his forehead, feeding him the lost memories. Like Sam, Dean experienced a rush of adrenaline and a flurry of images, but when Cas pulled his hand away, none of it stuck. “What the fuck was that? You do magic? What did you just do to me?”

“I was attempting to restore your memory. It didn’t work on Sam either, but I was hoping that maybe with you it would be different.”

“You did that to Sam?”

“Yes, I’m two for two at failing to help you guys. It just doesn’t make any sense.”

“What doesn’t?”

“You want me here. You wished for me. So why don’t you know me?”

“What do you mean, I _wished_ for you?”

“I was in purgatory. There was no way out for me. Until a stronger force than what kept me in intervened. You made a wish for me Dean. When this spell took place, you wished for my return. And the universe listened. I was brought here for you.”

“Okay…. I’m sorry man, but you are just a little bit crazy,” Dean shook his head.

“I know how this must sound…” Castiel relented. “But believe me Dean, we know each other very well.”

“Wait, you’re talking sexually, aren’t you?” Dean said. Cas stared at him unblinkingly, with a hint of pleading in his eyes. _You should know the answer to this,_ the look said.

“Our relationship reaches far beyond the physical, Dean,” Cas said, a bit prudishly.

“But you are under the impression that we have… knocked the boots?”

“Don’t sound so crass.” Cas said.

“You say you know me,” Dean said.

“Yes, but if you knew me you would know I can still offer my criticism of your brutish behavior,” Cas said.

“Ha! I’m brutish? Actually, I’m okay with that.” Dean grinned.

“Of course you are,” Cas said, smiling in spite of himself.

“Look, Castiel, is it?”

“You usually call me Cas.”

“I do? Okay then. Cas? You seem like a nice enough guy, for a crazy person. I mean that sincerely. But I don’t remember you. I don’t know you. I’m pretty sure I never have, because you, I would remember. So why don’t you do yourself a favor and let this little fantasy go. Because Benny does get jealous, and I can only hold him off you for so long.”

“I am not afraid of your vampire.”

“Oh no? Well unless you are immortal and extremely powerful, I suggest you change that attitude of yours buddy.” Dean said. Cas looked very amused. “That’s funny to you? Okay tough guy. But I’ve got to get back to my man.” The smile left Castiel’s face.

“How am I supposed to fix this debacle without you by my side?” he asked.

Dean leaned in close to him and looked him in the eyes. “Mental institution,” he said in a flirtatious whisper, and gave Cas a wink. Then he turned and walked away, joining Benny and the rest at the bar. Benny put an extremely possessive arm around Dean when he reached them, and turned to give Cas one hell of a glare. Cas met him back with a glare of his own, the odds were against him, but there was no way he was giving up.

“ _Dean wished for me,”_ he reminded himself. _“That is why I am here.”_

*          *          *

“I don’t understand, who is that guy?” Nick asked as he, Sean and Benny all sidled up to the bar and demanded their free drinks from Sam.

“Don’t know,” Benny growled, sipping on scotch and keeping an eye on Dean at all times.

“He had a nice presence, anyway,” Nick observed.

“You thought so?” asked Sean.

“Yeah,” said Nick. “I did. He seemed… I don’t know… light.”

“Like, light in the loafers? Like a sissy?”

“No, not at all. Light, like… a candle, or something. I can’t describe it, exactly. But wasn’t he kind of … _bright_?” Nick turned around to look at Castiel again.

“Honey I love you, but you come up with some of the weirdest analogies,” Sean said.

“I get what you’re saying, Nick,” Monroe said from behind the bar. He had just finished pouring a round of shots and he sort of gazed out over at Castiel, his hand resting absently on the bottle of Jägermeister. Then he looked back at Nick. “It’s like we’re not seeing all of him. There’s something behind the surface that’s sort of…. Shimmering there.”

“Oh my god he’s the real Edward Cullen,” said Benny sarcastically. “Shimmering? What’s that supposed to mean?  Dean needs to get his ass back over here.”

“I can’t believe you left him alone over there,” Renard said.

“I have to give him just a little bit of rope,” Benny said truthfully. Sam slammed the bottle of Jack Daniels down so hard it was a miracle he didn’t shatter the bottle.

“Don’t talk about my brother as though he were your pet dog,” he said furiously, his voice tight with anger.

“Oh, did I hurt your silly little human feelings?” Benny asked. “Sorry _Sammy_ but I don’t take orders from you. Why don’t you find your own relationship and leave mine and Dean’s alone? Take it from me, he’s _never_ gonna let you fuck him.” Sam made a lunge across the table, but Monroe grabbed on to him in the nick of time.

“Sam, we’re out of Patron. Will you go grab some from the back?” Monroe asked.

“Fine,” Sam said testily, lips tight. Benny scoffed and looked a bit cheered up. Sticking it to Sam made it easier to put up with Dean’s behavioral problems. In all honesty, Benny didn’t mind Dean having a mind of his own. In fact, he liked it most of the time. It was kind of a turn on. But something about this new guy made him nervous. He couldn’t explain why. He was about to decide that Dean’s time was up when he saw him coming back towards them. About fucking time.

“Aw, look who’s all grouchy,” said Dean, sliding onto the seat that was saved for him right next to Benny. Benny put an arm around him quickly, and couldn’t help shooting a glance at light bright over there (Nick’s weird ass description, but whatever). He definitely was jealous of what Benny had going on with Dean.

“Did that guy ever start making sense?” Benny asked him. “Did it turn out you knew him?”

“Nope,” Dean said dismissively. “Just a crazed stalker fan, I guess. It’s okay though. I’m pretty sure he’s harmless.”

Just then Nick gasped audibly.

“I’m not sure about that,” Nick said.

“Why do you say that?” Dean asked.

“Did you guys not just see that?” He asked, pointing to where Castiel was leaving the bar. The others turned to look, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

“What are you getting at, Nick? Renard asked him.

“You guys didn’t see them? How could you have missed them? The wings! They flashed like huge black shadows of power… couldn’t you feel it? Didn’t you see it?” He looked from face to face, seeing each one of them shaking their heads. Nick was nonplussed. “He totally had _wings,”_ he said again, like a child who is the only one who believes in magic. “Like a dragon. Or an angel.”


	24. The Easy Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reid tumbles down his new memory lane; Castiel gains an ally.

Reid had turned the loft upside down and inside out. Now he sat in the middle of the main room, amidst papers and pictures and articles of clothing and pill bottles and love letters and stared at the marriage certificate in his hands.

 

_This document certifies that on the_

_12 th Day of October _

_In the year Two Thousand and Eleven_

_Derek James Morgan_

_And_

_Spencer Percival Reid_

_Did enter into Holy Matrimony_

_Presided over by the honorable justice Penelope Garcia_

_And are hereby legally wed in the eyes of God and the Great Kingdom of Los Angelus_

It was signed by Reid, Morgan, and Garcia. He recognized all of their signatures. He and Morgan had been married for over a year. It was unbelievable. But this was hard evidence, something that his scientific mind hungered for before being able to accept what was seemingly real. The question now was this: had everything around him really changed? Or was he only now just waking up to the truth that had been here all along? His eyes went back to one of the letters he had already devoured. It was from about six months before the wedding, when they had hit a really rough patch. Spencer had experienced some kind of a mental break down. He had been incarcerated for a short while, putting back the pieces of reality. Derek had written him a letter every week. This was a random one of them.

_Dear Spencer,_

_You were wrong, I still miss you! An no, I haven’t let my wandering eye take me on wild twink chases, and I haven’t managed to bed my partner at the volunteer shelter. Sam is a great guy, and I guess I do like his long hair, but only because it reminds me of you. In fact, I’ve been so lonely without your skinny ass that I broke down and got me a damn dog. Yup, his name is Clooney, for obvious reasons. Stop laughing at me! This is your fault you know._

_Doctor Saybrooke says you are doing really well. She says you’re not seeing the cracks in the sky anymore, and I’ve got to say, I’m glad to hear it. You kinda had me scared I might fall through one of them eventually, and you know I don’t like the idea of floating around in the universe. Brothers do not go into space. That is strictly white nerd territory, so leave me out of it!_

_Ha, you know I’m kidding, right? You better be smiling right now. But you better be missing me too. Don’t go saying all that crazy shit about us not getting past this. I’m going to marry your ass in October, just like we planned it. I love you so fucking much sometimes I don’t know what to do with myself. Sometimes I wonder if I’m bad for you, if I’m the reason that you went mad, if they’re right and you did go mad. Sam says maybe you just needed a break. Is that what it is?_

_I was thinking about that last day. About all the scary shit you were seeing and how I couldn’t make you feel safe. What if that shit really is there, Spence? What if you are just special, and all that crazy shit is all around us, and the rest of us just don’t see? I realized I might have been able to help you better if I’d just tried to see it from your point of view. Because here’s the thing. If you were right, and all that shit is around us: cracked skies and alter egos and worlds beyond the looking glass… then it’s probably always been there. And we’ve always been okay in spite of it._

_Know this truth: I will always protect you. From the things I can see and fight, as well as the things that I just don’t experience the way you do. I will stand beside you, and I will never tell you that you’re crazy again._

_I thought about the time I told you about Burtrell, and what he did to me, and even though there was nothing you could do about it because it was in the past, you protected me, by hearing me out and loving me anyway. You never looked at me different because of it, and that saved me a little, because it made me believe I deserved to be loved. I want you to know that I love you with all my heart, and that you deserve to be loved, no matter what dirt you have to crawl through in your life, you will always be the safest place for me, and I will always be the safest place for you. When we’re in each other’s arms I know that everything is okay, and I cannot wait to be in your arms again and to hold you close to me, and let you know that no matter what happens I will never let you go. Not again. Not ever. I sent you a song. I want you to listen. I love you baby. Come back to me soon._

_Love,_

_Your Derek_

And then he had included the lyrics to the song he wanted Reid to listen to. An old one by the Dixie Chicks. Reid had found the vinyl album in the stacks and put it on the record player, but had become so engrossed in the marriage certificate that he’d forgotten to play it. He went over to the player and turned it on, dropping the needle directly onto the correct track.

 

_When the calls and conversations_

_Accidents and accusations_

_Messages and misperceptions_

_Paralyze my mind_

_Busses, cars, and airplanes leaving_

_Burning fumes of gasoline_

_And everyone is running_

_And I come to find a refuge in the_

_Easy silence that you make for me_

_It's okay when there's nothing more to say to me_

_And the peaceful quiet you create for me_

_And the way you keep the world at bay for me_

_The way you keep the world at bay_

As the music swelled, it started to feel familiar. Reid felt emotion rising in him as he listened. And then, a memory began to form. A room; sterile and sparse. He was wearing white pajamas. There was an mp3 player plugged into a speaker, and this song was on.

 

_Anger plays on every station ~~~~_

_Answers only make more questions_

_I need something to believe in_

_Breathe in sanctuary in the_

_Easy silence that you make for me_

_It's okay when there's nothing more to say to me_

_And the peaceful quiet you create for me_

_And the way you keep the world at bay for me_

_The way you keep the world at bay_

A single tear rolled down his cheek as he remembered the same in his room at St. Anne’s. Derek had sent him this letter and song on one of the harder days, a day of self doubt and sadness. This had been a game changer.

_Children lose their youth too soon_

_Watching war made us immune_

_And I've got all the world to lose_

_But I just want to hold on to the_

_Easy silence that you make for me_

_It's okay when there's nothing more to say to me_

_And the peaceful quiet-- ~~~~_

“Stop!” The man in the trench coat had come out of nowhere, and by merely reaching out a hand he scratched the needle from the record, pulling Reid out of his reverie.

“What the hell?” Reid said, startled by the stranger.

“You cannot let it finish,” said the man. “The spell is trying to reinforce itself on you, and that must not happen, Spencer Reid. Not when you are my only hope.”

 

*          *          *

 

“Who are you?” Reid asked the man. He reminded him a little of McGruff, the cartoon Dog who was always taking a bite out of crime. It wasn’t just the trench coat, it was also that this guy had a bit of a weary, hangdog expression on his face. Reid couldn’t place his age, every guess seemed either too young or too old.

“I am Castiel, and I have spent a lot of time in your previous world. The one only you can seem to remember.”

“You know about that?” Reid asked.

“I am an angel of the Lord. I know many things,” Castiel said plainly. Reid was not entirely sure he believed in “the Lord” as it were, but he found it hard to doubt that this man was speaking the truth. He said it with such authority, and there was a power surge to his very being that Reid could sense.

“Why can I see the truth when no one else can? Or are you just another part to my delusions? Are you even here?” Reid suddenly felt doubtful. In the blink of an eye, Castiel was across the room and standing directly in front of him. He put a very real hand on Reid’s shoulder, and it felt strong. He turned his face up to look Reid in the eye.

“You are special,” he said. “Your mind works in ways most men’s don’t. The spell has not been able to fool you. It cannot get around the abnormality of your brain.”

“Gee, thanks,” Reid said.

“This is a good thing. But the magic is searching for ways to best it. Music is very powerful. It was creating a scenario for you to fall into, hoping that you would accept it. As long as you hold out, the world will try to fight back, as will its creators.”

“Angel. And the… ghost?”

“Ghost no longer. Lindsey McDonald is queen of this world. He was the reason for this whole creation. He is now resurrected.”

“But he’s taken us all with him.”

“Yes. And when he took along one Dean Winchester, it became my affair.”

“You’re tied to Dean how, exactly?”

“We are soul mates,” Castiel said simply. “But he does not remember me. I don’t know how yet, but you are going to help me remind him.”

“You should know, that even before we wound up here, he was flirting with my partner Derek Morgan something fierce.”

“Dean cannot control his impulses to flirt. He cannot always control his impulses to lay down with men. But it is important that he makes those choices on his own. Our story is not yet finished. But it is my guess that Benny wished for him, and therefore Dean became his.”

“Angel said something about the loudest wish in the room.”

“Yes. Those that were present at the embarking of the spell had some input. This is why you are married to Derek Morgan, and Derek Morgan lives—“

“—Wait, are you telling me that if we go back to the old world Derek will die?”

“I cannot confirm that. There is no “version of Derek” remaining behind in this scenario. His fate was death before the interruption, but the sentence was suspended by the spell. I have no idea what will happen when we return everybody home. But we still must return everybody. We must restore the order of the worlds.”

“No,” Reid said, and Castiel looked at him, surprised.

“No?” he asked.

“I am not going to risk my life fighting these crazy guys just so that I can return to a world where not only do I not have Derek as my husband, but I don’t have Derek at all. If this is the only way to save his life, than I will stay here forever!” Reid walked over to the record player and dropped the needle back onto the track. Their song. The player powered down almost immediately. “Stop that!” Reid yelled at Castiel.

“Running from the truth is not the answer, Spencer.”

“Killing the man I love so that you can have your philandering boyfriend back is not the answer either, Castiel. Not my answer, that’s for damn sure.”

“Is this really where you want to live? In a world where humans are so discriminated against, they can be taken as pets, as slaves? Where your livelihood depends on the whims of a crazy fascist vampire and his vindictive beloved?”

“I seem to have a good life. I’m a doctor. I have a husband.”

“Your free will is being impeded upon. And even if you’re willing to accept that, do you feel you have the right to accept that for all the others involved? Have you the right to accept that for Derek Morgan?”

“Maybe this was his wish too!” Said Reid. “Just before it all went down, I told him I loved him. I finally told him, and he asked me to kiss him… maybe this is his wish…”

“To be a bottom class citizen? I doubt it.”

“I will take that over a dead citizen any day. And I think if your beloved Dean Winchester’s life was in jeopardy here, you would be saying the same thing. Don’t lie.”

Castiel took pause. He could see that there was not going to be a way to convince Spencer Reid that returning to a world without Derek Morgan was going to be best for everybody.

“All right then,” Cas said. “I have a new proposition for you.”

“Which is what, exactly?”

“Maybe we don’t have to go back to the old world at all. Maybe we just have to pull the blinders back on this one.”

“Reveal to everyone who they really are? I like it, but how? Can you just zap it and make it so?”

“No. My power is limited here. I cannot “undo” the spell. It has to be broken by other means. But you are a very smart man, Spencer. I believe that together we can do this thing. We can wake everybody up, and when that happens, may God spare the Queen.”

“Any ideas how we can do that?”

“My first guess would be to try with Angel/Angelus," said Cas. "His duality is a weakness. I do not believe he was able to eradicate Angel. If I can get close enough to him, I believe I can pull Angel back out. And Angel won’t like this any more than I do.”

“Right. So we need an audience with the king.”

“Yes, but we should not go in blind. We need to find out how they managed the spell, and what needs to be done to break it. We need to find out everything about them that we can.”

“And you know," said Reid, "even if we can’t break the spell, you might be able to win your boyfriend back. If you really are soul mates, magic spells will never keep you apart. That’s just not how fairy tales work.”

“Thank you, I will keep that in mind. But there was a rift between Dean and I before this all happened. So we still have much to overcome.”

“Good luck,” said Reid.

“One more thing before I go,” said Castiel. “Be very careful not to let on that you see things differently. The spell is going to be constantly looking for ways to squash any types of rebellion. It has already built in a history of mental instability for you so that you can be easily discredited. This was not an accident. If you do wish to plant seeds of discord, do it carefully. In the meantime, learn what truths you are supposed to share with others. But don’t play that record. I believe you already have some memories that don’t belong to you.”

“I remembered being in the mental hospital, St. Anne’s, it was called. I remember reading the letter, listening to that song…”

“Yes you remember. But you never lived it. Be careful when the lines start to get blurry. Pull away when that happens. You must not forget who you are.”

“Okay. You either. Are angels immune to that sort of thing?”

“I doubt it. I will be on the lookout for myself as well. Until next time then,” Castiel said, and disappeared.

“Now that, I will never forget,” said Reid. 


	25. Close Encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damon and Alaric continue the King's business, Renard has a shocking face-to-face, and... Bar Fight!

“Why is it that he always asks me to do his dirty work?” Damon complained. He was going into yet another watering hole with Alaric, scanning the crowd for anyone suspicious. They had no kind of plan for sussing out the bad guy that Angelus wanted them to apprehend. Frankly, Damon didn’t feel like doing this at all. He felt like going back to the Salvatore mansion with Alaric and ripping his fancy clothing to shreds, mawing and biting and humping for hours. What was so wrong with that? But no, he had to be in the King’s confidence, which many would see as a privilege, but he saw as a definite hindrance to his social life.

Granted, if it were not for the king’s mission, he never would have met the love of his life, never would have made him a vampire so that the two of them could have forever and ever till stake do us part. But could he enjoy this dream come true? No. He had to run around town looking for some vague prophecy that King Angelus had gotten his panties all in a bunch about. Hey, hadn’t some of the other guys been going to a bar tonight? That seedy Wesson run place on Fairfax. Maybe it was time to check out that one.

“Come on, let’s go to that Howling bar,” he said to Alaric.

“As good a place as any,” Alaric replied.

“This one is better. This one has Sean.”

“Should I be jealous of him?”

“Most definitely. He was cute as a teen-age boy. As a man, I want to do him repeatedly. Top or bottom, I don’t care. I think he’d do it too. He’s got that cheaty politician vibe. Better keep an eye on us.”

“You’re such an ass sometimes.”

“Only sometimes? I’ll have to work on that.”

They headed down to the tavern, immediately spotting their crowd at the bar, loud and boisterous, happily commanding the room. Damon leaned against Alaric for a moment, taking in the scene.

“Oh look,” he said. “The wolfman has a crush on Sean’s wifey.”

“You think so?”

“It’s so obvious. What, did you lose all your sense of observation when you became a vampire? Or is it that you never had any? You did fall for my shit pretty easily.”

“That’s because I was distracted by wanting to fuck you. Kind of like right now.”

“Down boy. We can play Vamps and Hunters later tonight. We’ve got to case the room for anybody out of the ordinary.”

“Why don’t we just ask our friends what they’ve noticed?”

“Because our friends aren’t being observant, their being self centered and important. It’s all good. You go left. I’ll go right, and we’ll meet at the bar and swap stories.”

“You’re the boss, sire.”

“You mean that literally, I take it.”

“Of course. You’re hardly royalty. But you are my sire.”

“I’m good with literal. I’ve got literal for you. Suck my cock.”

“Gladly dear one. Just later, I don’t feel like getting tossed out of a Wesson club.”

“Wesson wouldn’t toss you out for something like that. Fellatio is like shaking hands to them, the heathens. They might kick you out for not sharing your mead. Or for being too clean.”

“I’ll meet you at the bar then, Damon.”

“In minutes. Buy me a bloody mary. The good kind, not that swill Benny drinks.”

 

*          *          *

At the bar, Sean Renard watched Damon and Alaric come into the place, scope them out, and then head out in opposite directions as though casing the club. He was dying of curiosity, wising he’d been invited into the King’s chambers and been privy to what was going on with which he needed Damon’s assistance. He hated it that Damon was a vampire and he was merely a Wesson. Not that he was ashamed of being Wesson, he was very proud of his Hexenbiest heritage. He just wished he could be in the King’s inner circle which seemed to consist only of Vampires. Still, being the Wesson Consulate was nothing to sneeze at. Damon didn’t even have a title, he was just a guy that the King tended to go to, when he needed things. Whatever he had called Damon in for sounded important, though. Maybe he could get Damon to spill it to him tonight. It was possible, if he would get over here. Renard guessed whatever they were doing had to do with the latest mission, since neither of them had come over to the group or even acknowledged them.

Renard began scanning the room as well, looking for anything out of the ordinary, looking for whatever it was that Damon was looking for, even though he didn’t know what that was. That guy earlier had been awfully strange. What had Nick been talking about, with the wings? Renard knew that Nick was special among humans. He happened to know that Nick’s ancestors had been Grimms, those fabled warriors that hunted Wesson like bogeymen in the night. Grimms hadn’t been seen on this continent for years, and if any were to dare to come to Los Angelus, they would be tried and prosecuted as hunters. But Nick had no idea about his heritage. Only Renard knew to keep an eye out for Nick seeing things differently than others. Had tonight been such a sign? Perhaps Nick saw something in that man that none of the others had been able to.

Renard was considering this as something strange caught _his_ eye. In the corner of the room, over by the corridor leading to the bathrooms, he saw a man with a similar height and build of his own seeming to observe him. He wore a long coat and a fedora, so Sean couldn’t make out his face, but he got the distinct impression that this man wanted him to follow him. Intrigued, Renard stood up from the bar.

“Excuse me just a minute,” he said to Nick, who he hadn’t really been paying attention to. Nick barely looked up and nodded an acknowledgement. He seemed to be enraptured in a conversation with the Blutbad bar owner. Renard moved smoothly across the room after the man, who had gone down the corridor as soon as Renard started moving towards him. Did he want him to follow, or was he trying to lose him? Renard expected him to go into the men’s room, perhaps, but he passed it up, still several yards ahead of him.

“Hey,” Renard called after him tentatively. “Wait a minute sir,” but the man darted down the hall, and then pushed out the back emergency exit. Renard followed him out into the alley behind the bar. Once outside, he saw that the man had stopped and was leaning against one of the brick walls that flanked the alley. He tilted his head up and now Renard could see his face—and he stopped in his tracks, blinking, disbelieving what he was seeing. It was the face of Sean Renard.

“Who are you?” Renard asked, his voice accusatory. “What do you want from me?” The stranger with his face laughed.

“I am you, Consular Renard. Or should I say, Captain Renard? Or should I say, your highness.”

“Don’t play games with me.”

“I am not playing games with you Sean. I am here because you sent me here. I am a message to you, from you.”

“What magic is this?”

“It’s old magic, for sure. We know a few of the old spells still, things we learned before being cast out of the family.”

“I wasn’t cast out of anything. I was happy to represent our lineage in North America.”

“Are you going to tell me what this is about then? Since you’ve obviously got all the answers.”

“I wasn’t—I mean… you say that I sent you?”

“Yes. I’m a vorhersage. Sent by you to this place, because you knew that your memory would be washed if you weren’t able to procure the magic for yourself.”

“What magic?”

“The magic that brought you here. It suits your purpose to an extent, but there is still much for you to do. And of course you cannot stay here. That would benefit nothing. It would be pointless.”

“What do you mean by ‘brought me here’?”

“This isn’t where you belong. You are caught in a world created by your Vampire King. Hence the world working out always in his favor. You were able to specify a few things that were most important, like Nick—“

“—Nick!”

“Yes. Nick is a very important part of the puzzle.”

“But weren’t we together? Wherever it was we came from?”

“Not yet. We were working on it. This is making things easier. We can take care of the Nick situation here. But as soon as that’s done, you need to get back in the world you belong in. The power you can create when you solidify things with Nick will be immense, everything you are striving for.”

“Solidify things means… what, exactly?”

“I think you know.”

Renard thought he did.

“You’re talking about making love? He’s my life partner; we’ve already done that and then some.”

“No. You only think you have. They are false memories, Sean.”

“You’re telling me—” 

“Only hours ago you were in Portland trying to figure out how to seduce him into giving it up.”

“Because I love him.”

The other Renard paused.

“We’ve come to care for him, it’s true. But we cannot let that weaken our resolve. A Wesson Royal making love to a Grimm… it’s the only thing that breaks the spell.”

“What spell?”

“The spell that gives Grimms their advantage over us. Once you break it, you’ll return to the old world a hero. The more you make love, the stronger we become. You can drain him of his power. Take it for your own. Just make sure you’re wearing this,” the other Renard reached over and put a charm on a chain around Sean’s neck.

“More magic?”

“Just trust me.”

“I don’t want to hurt him.”

“You won’t. You’ll only make him ordinary. He has it coming after what he did to Adalind.”

“Who?”

“You’ll remember one day. Until then… go home and fuck your wife, consular. And make it good.”

 

 

 

*          *          *

Nick was really enjoying himself. He always liked talking to Monroe, there was something about that guy that was so calming… and funny… and even kind of cute, not in the traditional sense or anything, but cute nonetheless. One thing he really liked about Monroe was that he always listened to whatever Nick was saying. Like, really listened. Sean didn’t do that so much. Sean loved him, and took good care of him, and really liked having sex with him, but he almost _never_ listened to him. Maybe it was a human/Wesson class war thing, Nick didn’t know. Maybe it was some lame husband/wife stereotype left over from yesteryear. Wesson could be old fashioned. But Monroe wasn’t old fashioned. He didn’t even eat meat. And he did Bikram yoga, and listened to new, obscure bands and always listened to Nick when he had an opinion, or just something funny to share.

 Like right now, Nick was telling a really funny story about how the mailman had delivered a package to their house by mistake, and Monroe was looking at Nick fully engaged in the story, while Sean was staring off across the other side of the room. Now Monroe was adding some interesting tidbits he knew about the post office to enhance Nick’s story, and Sean was mumbling something about going to the bathroom or whatever. Nick nodded him off and returned his attention to Monroe. He didn’t mean to, but he was kind of thinking about Monroe’s penis now. How big was it? Blutbad’s had the reputation of having really large penises, and Nick wondered if that were true about Monroe. He was _awfully_ tall. Sean had a big penis too. Their sex together was always good. It was just that there was something else missing sometimes, and Nick didn’t know what it was.

He watched Dean and Benny. Those two seemed to have a pretty good relationship; the best he’d seen between a human and a vampire. Sure they had their squabbles, but that was good, it meant that Benny didn’t squash Dean when he spoke his mind, didn’t pull the rank card out on him constantly. On paper, Dean was Benny’s property, but in actuality, they were more of a team. Nick wondered if Sean would have ever let _him_ stay behind and talk to a strange man with a strange presence and an eye on his wife. Hell to the no. But Benny respected and trusted Dean, and that was really cool. It was obvious Sam didn’t like it though. But Nick had always thought that Sam had kind of a nonfamilial crush on his older brother.

“Yeah, it’s official. You’ve checked out on me. How’s Nickyland this time of the year?”

“Huh?” Nick looked up at Monroe, realizing the irony of thinking about how Monroe always listened to him while tuning Monroe out. Not on purpose though! “Sorry, I guess I trailed off for a minute there.”

“It’s okay Nick. I expect it from you from time to time. It’s just kind of one of your isms.”

“My _jisms_?” Nick asked aghast.

“Your isms, _isms_! Geez, Nick, I’m not an animal. Well, not really. Anyway, Your Nickisms. Things that are uniquely you. Like batting your eyes without realizing it. Or wandering off to Nickyland.”

“Oh, I get it. I do that a lot?”

“You do. But it’s all good, Nicky.”

“I like it when you call me Nicky.”

“I like that you like it.”

“Are you guys planning on fucking later?” asked an interrupting Damon, approaching the group just then. “Because it kind of seems like it. Is Sean loaning you out to locals these days Nick?”

“Screw you, Damon,” Nick said furiously. “You’re disgusting, and that does not even warrant an answer.” Dean and Benny were both chuckling though. Had he and Monroe seemed inappropriate?

“Show a little respect, why don’t you?” Monroe said to Damon, his temper flaring up just a little bit. “That’s the consulate’s wife you’re talking to.”

“I know who he’s married to,” said Damon unapologetically. “Nice to see that you’re aware of it wolf man.” Monroe began to growl deep within his throat, but Sam put a steady hand on his arm.

“He’s not worth it,” Sam told him, glaring at Dean for laughing at the whole encounter. Dean shrugged. Alaric walked up then, sliding an arm around Damon and looking around at the obvious tension.

“What did I miss?” he asked.

“Your boyfriend being a jackass,” Nick said bitterly.

“Huh. I always thought stuff just kind of rolled off of you, Mrs. Renard.”

“That’s _Mister_ —you know what? Forget it. You are obviously as bad as he is.” Alaric was now snickering along with Damon, as Nick grew more and more furious. This in turn made Monroe mad as hell.

“Do we need to settle this outside?” Monroe asked threateningly.

“Do. Not. Do. This.” Sam warned him.

“Fight!” shouted Dean.

“Why bother with going outside when I can take your mangy Blutbad ass out right here?” asked Damon. “Maybe, just maybe it will teach you to keep your pervy little eyes off my friend’s wife.”

“I have never--!”

“Maybe in your dreams? I’m guessing the wettest ones.”

That was it. Monroe leapt across the bar and attacked Damon, tackling him to the ground.

“Monroe, no!” Sam called after him, but it was too little to help. Alaric watched the two of them closely, clearly at the ready to jump in should Damon start losing the fight. Nick looked about ready to do the same. How dare Damon say those things about him and Monroe! Like Monroe thought of him that way, that was a laugh. He hoped Damon wasn’t filling Sean’s head with that shit.

The two men were scrambling on the floor, punching and grunting, clawing and growling, drawing blood wherever possible. Monroe was definitely the angrier of the two, and therefore starting to get the upper hand. Sam was half heartedly trying to break up the fight, but Dean kept yelling at him to “back off Sammy! Let the men handle themselves!” Sam seemed somewhat inclined to agree until Alaric decided that he’d seen enough pounding on Damon and jumped on Monroe’s back to unlevel the playing field. At about this time Renard was coming back into the bar, and looked genuinely startled at what was going on with his friends.

“What’s this all about?” he asked Nick.

“What do you think? Damon was being a jerk.”

“I’m sure he was, but I’ve never known the bar-keep to be the violent type. What spurred him on?”

“I don’t know,” Nick lied. “They were really getting to each other.”

“Well I’m sorry to end everyone’s entertainment, but I’m going to have to break them up. I can’t have Wesson and Vampire’s in very public brawls, especially when said Vampires are known consorts of the King. It makes our kind look bad.”

“This is not Monroe’s fault,” Nick insisted.

“I’m sure that’s true. But it will probably spun that way nonetheless.” He turned toward Benny and Dean. “Guys, can you help me break this up?”

“Sure thing killjoy,” said Dean, not budging from his excellent view. Benny stood up though, and positioned himself behind Damon so he could snatch him away from Monroe when Renard gave the word. The Consular did the same behind Monroe, and then gave Benny the nod. They pulled at the fighting men, leaving Alaric by himself on the ground between them. Damon was laughing and spitting blood. He was in heaven. Monroe shrugged Renard off immediately, releasing a small roar and then sprinting away into the back room behind the bar, throwing a last minute order at Sam:

“Sam! I want him out of my bar!”

Sam came from around the bar and stood in front of Damon, arms folded, saying everything with a look.

“Oh, am I the ‘him’ he means?” he asked with mock innocence. “The only thing is I’m here on the King’s business, so I can’t leave until I’ve satisfied my investigation.”

“And what is it that you are investigating, hmm?” asked Sam.

“Strangers,” said Damon. “Have you seen any? Strangers in town, acting.. I don’t know… strange?”

“Sure,” said Benny. “That weirdo that was harassing Dean.”

“He wasn’t _harassing_ me Benny.”

“Well he was harassing me then. Anyway, I didn’t like him. And he was new, and he was strange. Nick said he had wings.”

“Wings?” asked Damon. He looked at Nick.

“Sorry, not talking to you,” Nick said simply. Nick looked at Sean. “Can we get out of here already?”

“Of course,” said Sean. “But if we can help Damon with his mission from the king, we should.” Renard turned to Damon. “Why is Angelus looking for strangers?”

“Can’t really say,” Damon said maddeningly. “But I need all the information I can get on them. Tell me about this guy.”

“About, yea high,” Renard motioned with is hand, “trench coat, brown hair, distinct voice. That’s about all I got.”

“What about the wings?”

“I didn’t see any wings. I don’t really think Nick did either, just a trick of the lights in here. He was awfully interested in Dean Winchester.”

“What did he want with you?” Damon asked Dean.

“My body, more than likely. He thought he knew me from somewhere, but I don’t think so. Must have had me mixed up with someone else.”

“Is that what he said?” asked Renard. He looked as though his wheels were churning.

“Yeah. But I sent him back on his merry way. He never said anything about the King. He seemed pretty harmless, if I’m being honest. Humble, kind of. I don’t know, he was a different kind of guy. But not dangerous though.”

 “Sean, can we get out of here?” Nick asked testily.

“Yes, just… are you mad about something?”

“No. Just ready to go,” Nick said unconvincingly.

“I’d better get him out of here,” Sean said, somewhat apologetically to the others. _My wife. You know how it is._ Nick was already walking to the door.

“Goodnight Sean,” Damon said, giving Sean a one armed bro hug. As he did he leaned in to whisper in his ear, “find out about that wings business. He could be on to something.”

“You got it,” Sean replied, but he had no intention of doing so. If Nick had seen something nobody else did, it was because he was a Grimm, and there was no way Renard was letting the king or anyone else in on that little number. He had to play things close to the vest right now, especially after what he had learned tonight. The two parted, and Renard went after Nick, hoping to salvage the good spirits he’d been in at the start of the night. He had business to get to. And it was his favorite kind.


	26. Bedtime Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean dreams, Renard schemes, Clark and Connor eavesdrop and Damon and Alaric get it on.

Dean Winchester was dreaming. He was with the man from the bar, the one in the trench coat that had gotten Benny so out of sorts. They were alone in an old motel room, seated across from one another on the queen bed, Dean’s chest was heaving, and there was blood on his bare skin, although there was no sign of an injury. It was because Cas had healed him, he knew that somehow, in the dream.

“How many times are you gonna bail my ass out, Cas? I should be dead, for about the millionth time.”

“The world is better off with you in it, Dean. No matter how many times you try and leave early.”

“How many times are you gonna make me stay?” Dean cracked a half smile, and looked at Castiel questioningly… flirtatiously even.

“As many times as I’m given the opportunity,” Cas replied. They were suddenly very close, the original space between then closed up like a zipper, their faces nearly touching. Of course dreams do not have to make sense.

“And how many times are you going to sit there and look at my body and not make a move?” Dean asked huskily. He felt his nipples sieze up into hard little points, his breath growing shallow, his cock waking up.

“You’re out of line,” Castiel said, sounding strained.

“You want it just as much as I do.”

“It’s forbidden.”

“By who?”

“By the laws of my father!”

“I don’t buy it. We don’t know what if any of that jargon comes from Him, or what comes from your control freak siblings.”

“Do not press this issue.”

“Then stop wanting me so much.”

“I am trying to… resist this…”

“I am through with resisting. You’re in my world. My laws apply.”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

“It works how I say it works,” Dean said, leaning forward and kissing Cas. Energy zipped through them both like a lightning bolt, and Dean felt Castiel’s hand on his bare back like fire, tasted the need in his mouth as he sucked his tongue, felt a hum throughout his body as their energy intertwined… finally, it was finally going to happen—

“Are you dreaming about me sugar?” Benny’s voice startled him into awareness, feeling his familiar hands trailing down his body. Dean pulled away from him, confused. Why on earth was he dreaming about that weird guy in the trench coat? And not just any dreams, sex dreams! It had felt so real…

“You all right?” Benny asked him, starting to sound worried.

“I’m fine,” Dean said shortly. “Just… weird dreams, that’s all.”

“Sounded like a good one.”

“Well it wasn’t,” Dean said, laying back down but rolling over so he faced away from Benny. “Go back to sleep.”

 

*          *          *

“Don’t you want to know what happened at the bar?” Nick asked Renard, who had already stripped Nick of his shirt and was kissing on his neck from behind, tweaking his nipples and grinding his semi-hard cock against Nick’s tight round ass. They hadn’t even made it into the bedroom yet, but as they had no children, the whole penthouse was fair game. Nick’s feathers were obviously ruffled by whatever had gone down at the Howling, but Sean had only one thing on his mind: officially consummating their marriage. Sean grabbed Nick by the shoulders and spun him around so that they faced each other.

“Can we talk about it later?” he asked, looking at Nick slyly and then dropping to his knees where he began to unbuckle Nick’s belt and unbutton his trousers. Nick didn’t want to talk later, he wanted to talk now, wanted to insist that Sean listen to him for a change. But as Sean slid Nick’s dick out of the fly and into his mouth, Nick could feel his body overruling his mind.

“No fair,” he moaned, putting a hand on one of Sean’s well muscled shoulders to steady himself as his husband brought his mouth up and down his shaft, squeezing Nick’s balls as he did so. Nick was finding it hard to remember what he’d wanted to discuss anyway, as Sean was now pulling him down onto the plush hand tufted carpet and Nick found himself eagerly releasing Sean’s now fully loaded penis from its silk slacked prison.

Renard was happy to see Nick was getting into it. This _knowledge_ he had come across today was a little bit confusing, actually, and he was surprised to find himself almost _nervous_ about doing something he felt as though he’d done countless times before. And suddenly for just a moment, he wondered about the ethical aspect of it all… if he really had never made love to Nick before… if they were in the middle of a mind altering reality… was this consensual sex? The moment he thought it he wanted to unthink it.

“ _That’s ludicrous_ ,” he told himself. Who knew if the vorhersage was even telling the truth? Certainly grappling with these grey ethical dilemmas was in no way helping him do what he needed to. He looked down at Nick, who was flush and breathless, wetting his lips with a flick of that hot teasing tongue of his. They locked eyes for a moment.

“Are you still with me Sean?” Nick asked, some sort of question beginning to form behind his eyes. Best not to let Nick do too much thinking.

“Of course,” Renard reassured him. “No better place to be.”

“I can think of a better place,” Nick countered.

“Oh year? Where’s that?”

Nick grabbed Sean’s head and brought him up close, pressed his lips to Sean’s ear and whispered hotly:

“ _Inside of me_.”

That sounded a lot like consent.

Renard entered Nick eagerly, and despite whatever the vorhersage version of himself had said, he felt as if he knew this body, knew this man intimately. As he moved within Nick, he knew when to slow down and when to speed up, where to touch him and how. He read Nick’s vocal cues like a handbook, confidently bringing them both to a coinciding thundering orgasm. But as they climaxed together, _something_ was different. He felt a new exchange of sorts; instead of their energies intertwining and breaking into the air together, he felt a definite transfer of something… an energy, a life force… surge in himself; as his body were taking it _from_ Nick. He came with an intensity he’d never experienced before, and he felt rejuvenated as he collapsed beside his wife who was panting, looking dizzy, but happy.

“Wow, what was that tonight?” Nick said dazedly. “I’m completely spent.”

Renard wrapped his arms around Nick lovingly, enjoying the way his own body _hummed_.

“You are incredible,” he said, playing with Nick’s hair that was plastered to his head wet with sweat. Renard kissed his temple. “Wasn’t there something you wanted to talk to me about?” he asked.

“I couldn’t begin to tell you what,” Nick replied dismissively, allowing himself to sink into his husband’s arms. Sean’s arms felt so powerful tonight, Nick observed absently. So very powerful, and safe.

*          *          *

 

Damn, Clark Kent could really superfuck, Connor thought as he grasped the headboard which banged relentlessly into the wall. It was lucky Connor was an anomaly; a human likely couldn’t take this kind of power, or stamina.

“Oh yes, fuck my ass! You are tearing me up baby!” Connor screamed. He was nearing completion when all of a sudden Clark stopped, still inside him but no longer thrusting at the speed of light. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Connor spat out angrily. “I was almost there!”

“Sorry, something’s up with your parents,” Clark said, pulling his extra-large member from the hole that should not have been able to contain it and tilting his head to the side, listening.

“Are you kidding me?” Connor cried in outrage. “And they’re not my parents. It’s my dad and his fucking man-cunt.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that about anyone, especially your mom,” Clark chided.

“My mom is dead. Men aren’t mothers, dimwit. Even if they go around calling themselves the Queen.”

“I don’t know why you hate him so much,” said Clark.

“Neither do I,” Connor admitted. “Although right now I can think of a few reasons.” He threw himself back onto the bed, giving up. “What is so important that you’ve ruined my orgasm? What are they talking about?”

“They’re arguing,” Clark told Connor. “You’re dad’s all: _this is falling apart! And it’s your fault._ And your mom’s all: _This is not my fault! And you should have told me about it before you went involving Damon!_ And your dad’s all: _Who’s the king here? Last I checked I’m the one in charge. I’ll involve whoever I want, and besides, I can trust Damon because he chose to be here._ And your mom’s all—”

“Quit calling Lindsey my mom!”

“Sorry. _Lindsey’s_ all: _You’re king because I made you king! And we can’t trust Damon because he’s just plain untrustworthy! I could end this whole thing now if I wanted to, so don’t tell me who’s in charge!_  And your dad’s all: _And where would that leave you, Lindsey?_ ” Clark’s face fell.

“What?” Connor prompted.

“ _Dead,”_ Clark said, a look of concern and confusion crossing his face. “He said: _It would leave you dead._ ” Clark looked at Connor. “What do you suppose it all means?”

“Probably that you shouldn’t be eavesdropping on their conversations,” Connor replied, but he looked concerned, nonetheless.

 

*          *          *

“Well that was a wasted evening,” Alaric complained, tossing his jacket onto the worn black leather sofa and dropping himself down onto it as well.

“How do you figure?” Damon asked him from across the room, pouring himself a drink into a hand cut crystal tumbler and taking a healthy swig. His eyes were alight with the excitement of his recent fight. “I nearly had that Blutbad, you know,” he said wistfully through a mocking mouth. “God how I love a good scrimmage.”

“I meant the king’s mission,” Alaric said. “He interrupted our dinner party and we’ve got nothing. Just another nearly escaped assault charge for you. Thank god it was a Weson and not another vampire.”

“Are you saying that fight didn’t make you as hot as I am right now? Because I know if you’re saying that, you’re _lying,_ ” Damon said, crossing the room and straddling Alaric, putting the glass of bourbon to his lips. Alaric drank deeply, then locked eyes with Damon, and visibly softened.

“You’re not at all worried about this quest of the king’s?” Alaric asked. “About that stranger they were talking about?”

“We can think about that tomorrow,” Damon said, putting the cool glass into Alaric’s left hand and pulling his own shirt up over his head. His chest heaved with heady breaths. He dove headfirst for the crook of Alaric’s neck, kissing and licking his lover, bighting his ear, drawing just a bit of blood. Alaric let out a low moan. His hands ran up Damon’s rib cage, playfully twisted his nipples. Alaric’s hands on him felt so good. Damon couldn’t explain why, but it felt more heated that usual, more urgent suddenly. He took Alaric’s mouth in his own, and their tongues did a slow dance, sending shockwaves of nerve endings that collided with the ones already on fire from their exploratory hands. Alaric manhandled Damon off of his lap and onto the couch so he could aggressively strip Damon of his slacks, but as soon as he was free of them Damon pounced back at Alaric, dismissing the other man’s belt and trousers with a hungry ferocity and speed only a vampire could master. He pushed Alaric onto his back, both of them now naked, and climbed over his lover as a predator would, pinning him down, and drinking in Alaric’s gorgeous body. Damon bit his lip till it bled, then hovered over Alaric’s mouth and let the crimson nectar drip onto Alaric’s lips and tongue, feeling the surge of arousal course through Alaric’s body as he grabbed Alaric’s turgid cock which pressed against his thigh and stroked it confidently.

They met each other’s eyes, swimming with need and desire and for just a moment Damon felt a surge of anticipation shockingly equal to the first time they’d had sex. And then Damon was mounting him, pushing down slowly so he could experience every inch of Alaric filling him up, grinding down on him as Alaric trusted up to meet him. With Damon, being a bottom never meant being submissive. He took control of the situation, finding the perfect rhythm, both of them moaning out in pleasure, not giving a shit that Stefan was alone in the other room, no doubt begrudging their sexual antics, or perhaps jacking off to the sound of them. Their bodies connected as one hedonistic entity, and as Damon felt Alaric climax into him, it set Damon off as well. He collapsed on top of his lover, quickly finding his mouth for a well earned kiss. Alaric wrapped his arms around Damon, stroking his hair softly.

As Damon lay there, feeling completely content, an odd thought came to him; he could hear it in his head almost like a memory, like an echo from another time: “ _You are not dead_.” What an odd thought, he mused, and then more words followed, so strongly he whispered them inadvertently to himself: “ _Sometimes you stay. Sometimes you stay, and you love me._ ”

“What? I’m not going anywhere,” Alaric said, having picked up some of Damon’s words.

“Of course not,” Damon replied, confused by the thoughts, but dismissing them. Some sort of déjà vu, he guessed. A hundred and seventy-two years generated a lot of memories.  


	27. Reid Hatches a Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reid gets a lead on a way to get close to Angelus, and grapples with a ethical dilemma.

When Morgan got home, Reid was waiting for him. He was bright eyed and clear minded, although he hadn’t slept like he had promised. Reid had been on a walk around their little hamlet, letting his mind run over the revelations of the day. Then, tacked to a lamp post like a punk rock flyer in a big city was an sign- in the form of a sign. It was glossy on expensive card stock- so _not_ like a punk rock show poster- and the title across the top caught his attention immediately:

**_Masquerade Ball_ **

Intrigued, Reid had walked up closer to the sign to get a better look.

_The King and Queen’s Annual_

_Masquerade Ball_

_This Weekend at the Palace_

_Costume Contest in three Categories_

_Gourmet Feast_

_Open Bar_

_Human Blood_

_All Preternatural Creatures Welcome_

_First 50 Humans allowed in!_

_Human safety guaranteed_

_Come one, come all, to the_

_Vampire’s Ball!_

_Mask required. Palace guard has the right to refuse entry to anyone they deem a threat. See the full list of rules and regulations at the palace website[www.AngelusCastle](http://www.angeluscastle/).gov_

 

This was it! This was how Reid was going to get close enough to Angelus to pull Angel out. It was the perfect venue for a reversal of fortune. The only tiny problem of course was being one of the first fifty humans allowed inside. But surely there was a way for humans to get invites outside of the mass entering, right? Maybe Derek would know how. Reid pulled the poster off of the post and walked back home at a gait.

When Morgan came in finally after his shift, Reid held up the poster excitedly.

“Do you see this?” He asked with a large grin.

“Yeah, I see it,” Derek said, looking questioningly at Reid. “What about it?”

“We have to go,” Reid replied.

“You hate those things,” Morgan countered. “You hate the fancy, you really hate the King and you hate the Queen even more. Why would you want to go to that?”

“Because you like these kind of things,” said Reid on the fly. “And I do like dressing up in costumes. And…” he thought hard as he could see he was not convincing Derek. “And somebody has to peddle for more funding for the human hospital,” Reid tried on a long shot. “Our equipment is becoming terribly outdated, and the Class H hospital is the first one to get budget cuts. There are bound to be some deep pockets at this thing.”

“Okay, that I get,” Morgan relented. Reid gave an inward sigh of relief. “Do you have tickets, though? I don’t know about standing in that line on party night hoping against hope that we’ll be some of the few human allowed inside.”

“I was hoping maybe you would know a way to finagle some. You have way more friends than I do.”

“Not Vampire friends. I might be able to wheedle my way into working it, but I don’t know about tickets.”

“No, because I want you to be my date, it won’t be any fun at all if you are working,” Reid countered. “Come on, don’t you have any friends with Vampire connections?”

Derek exhaled and squinted, a sure sign that he was thinking about it.

“Sam Winchester, maybe. “He works at that Weson bar, and I think his brother just signed a VC contract.”

“VC contract?” Reid asked before he could stop himself.

“I know, unbelievable right? An advocate for human rights, a lawyer for the Human _consulate_ even, and his brother signs up to be a blood slave. It makes no fucking sense at all. Dean is _fine_ , too. Sam is not happy about it.”

_Stinks of someone else’s wish,_ Reid thought, but he bit his tongue.

“Is Dean’s Vampire connected enough to get us in?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll find out baby boy,” Morgan said. Reid had to steel himself to keep from falling over at the sound of Morgan calling him that. Was he just as bad as whatever vampire had wished to have Dean Winchester as his blood slave? Because there was no way in hell that hunter would ever go for something like that. Reid had only met him recently but he’d gathered enough to know that for sure. The more he thought about it, Castiel was right. Putting people in scenarios beyond their control just wasn’t fair to them. People deserved free will. And since he was one of the few people who could see it for what it was, it was Reid’s job to try and turn things around. Even if it meant Morgan didn’t want to be married to him.

Morgan grabbed one of his hands and pulled Reid towards him. He wrapped an arm around Reid’s waist and brought their lips together in one tantalizing fell swoop.

“Seems like you’re feeling better,” Morgan said. His closeness was intoxicating. Reid was breathing in his scent, reveling in the feel of Morgan’s strong arms around him. Morgan’s lips moved from Reid’s mouth to his neck, and suddenly he knew where this was going. But wait… could he let this happen like this? Reid wanted to be with Morgan more than anything… but is this how he wanted it to be? Their first time together and Morgan already knew his body inside and out? Yet Reid would be completely new to it… and even if he was okay with that (because as Morgan began to crawl his fingers up the back of his shirt leaving a trail of fire in their wake, he felt more and more okay with that), was it right for Reid to take advantage of Morgan sexually while he was under this spell? It would be different if they were both in the dark, but Reid knew exactly what was going on. Somehow it didn’t seem right. Almost painfully, Reid pulled away from Morgan.

“I can’t,” he said pitifully. He felt pitiful. Why did he have to be the good guy all the time? “I’ve got to go back down to work,” he improvised. “There’s paperwork I was supposed to get finished with before I went home early today.” He pouted.

“Are you kidding me? You’re taking a sick day.”

“Doctors don’t have such luxury. I’ll make it up to you though, I promise.”

“How are you planning to get there? I drove you home in my car. Which means your car is still at work.”

“Hmm, I guess I’ll just have to take a dangerous walk in the dark. Unless of course my husband takes pity on me.”

“You’re not right,” Derek said, but he reached over to the counter and retrieved his keys. “Lets go, before I change my mind and tie you to the bed,” he joked.

“Stop making this harder than it already is,” said Reid, and he meant it.

“Alright shorty, let’s get you back to your mistress.”

“Wow, when did I get hot enough to manage a mistress?”

“You’ve always been hot enough shorty. Besides, your mistress is a coughing, bleeding, spasming, flatlining hot mess.”

“But she’s a good tipper.”

Morgan laughed out loud at that one.

“You’re not right,” he said again, but he looked it good spirits.

As they rode to the hospital, Reid thought about what he was going to do if he couldn’t free Angel and return everybody’s memory back to them. He was not going to be able to push aside Morgan’s advances forever. They were married for crying out loud. And on top of that, Reid wanted to be with him, wanted to feel Morgan inside, outside and all throughout his body and soul. He had to believe that Morgan would still want him once the truth came out… but what if it never came out? What if he was forced to live this way forever?

 The thought of the record came to mind. The Easy Silence. It had been so simple to fall into that music, to get swept away in the song, to forget everything that he knew and just fall into the bliss that was his greatest, loudest wish…  he stopped himself from going there. There had been countless studies on the attributes of positive thinking, and although Reid couldn’t exactly endorse Rhonda Byrne’s ‘The Secret’ philosophy, the idea of concentrating on what he _wanted_ to happen as opposed to what terrible things _might_ happen sounded like a good enough idea for now. Especially taking into consideration that they were living in a world that had been created by wishes and a magic bean. If he thought about _that_ too much he would convince himself that he was crazy and needed to go back to that mental hospital, so he just accepted it for the time being. Oh how he wished he could talk to Morgan about all of this. The one person in this world he was closest to and he couldn’t share the most important things with him. If all went well at the ball, however, that would all be changing soon enough. Reid couldn’t wait.


	28. The Ball: Prelude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Come one, come all, to the Vampire's Ball.

The castle was decked out to the nines. The floor in the ballroom was a spectacular black and white harlequin pattern, and gleamed with the shine of a thousand suns. Angelus had insisted that twenty-six blood slaves be brought in from the stables to do it by hand, and the results were breathtaking. The walls were mirrored with large frames of gold filigree throughout, so you could walk past opulence and then catch yourself in all your ballroom glory, across and in front and in the corner of your eye… glimpsed images of the most beautiful luxury.  At the head and foot of the room stood towers of champagne coups waiting to be filled with their bubbling libations. One end with the most splendid Dom Peringon, the other with a blush delicacy imported from a Vampire region in France, made from fermented virgin blood. That was a highlight of the King’s parties. Nowhere else in the kingdom could you find plasmagne.

Along one wall was the feast, for Weson, Werebeings, and those few lucky humans. The twenty five foot table was laden down with mouth watering concoctions from mini lamb chops to lobster shooters, exotic dips, elaborate cheesecakes, chocolate fondue and even a whole roast pig complete with a juicy red apple in its mouth.

The bar was at the south end, beyond the real champagne atop a lofted area from which descended two elegant staircases. There, three bartenders slung gin, bourbon and vodka, mixing it with bitters, egg whites and expensive liqueurs to the delight of expectant guests. Mirroring on the north end was the Dj booth, where DJ First Bite, a favorite of the King’s son was spinning a variety of hip urban beats and melancholy classics fused together in an unforgettable ambiance.

Lindsey and Angelus stood side by side, gazing across the room approvingly. The scene was perfection. The greatest party ever thrown, carefully concocted to dazzle the subjects of a overbearing tortuous and cruel monarchy into thinking that their lord really wasn’t so bad, that their lives were exactly where they wanted them, because after all; who would want anything more that this right here, in this glorious luxurious moment?  This was, of course, before the bloodshed entered the scene. Blood spatter, angry cries of pain and vengeance, battles of the alpha males, passion of the worst kind, shredded satin and blood soaked ruffles, masks askew as terror reigned the night. Not exactly what Angelus had planned, not by a long shot. Not a deal breaker for him either though, because a little suffering was always a good time, that is, unless the suffering began crawling his way. Then they would have a problem. And thanks to the man in the trench coat, the stranger that Damon should have taken care of hours ago, it looked as though they were going to have a problem. A very. big. problem.

 It started with that damn human, of course. The Hexenbiest’s wife. Too pretty to be spoken for without contest, too stupid to keep it from getting out of hand. Encouraged the Blutbad, no doubt. Perhaps they had been together before, Lindsey thought later. And love was not something to go quietly. The other human had been the next to cause a ruckus, in between two men again of course, three if you counted his brother. And Benny had always been hot tempered. The one in the coat was more than Benny projected, and he was willing to fight to the end for that hot piece of human ass.

Believe it or not, Dean Winchester hated being fought over, that much was clear. He felt demeaned by it, emasculated. He was furious with the both of them (the three of them, really), but had done nothing to curb the violence, and so… more blood. Then came the final, most problematic of all the humans, though the King and his Queen had almost forgotten all about him, about whatever small role he had played in the unfolding of their master plan, and perhaps that was their detriment, because this frail, skinny, unassuming human who had gotten everything his heart desired was about to unravel everything they had built. Once he was in front of him, Angelus felt the danger. Felt it, but still did not understand it until it was too late. Until he was saying the words; the words that changed everything.

“Angel, vos versa rector. Exsurge.” 


	29. Blood On the Dance Floor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody goes to the ball, nobody behaves themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While writing this chapter, I was listening to a piano version of Lady Gaga's "Just Dance" and an instrumental of Justin Timberlake's "What Goes Around Comes Back Around" on a repeated loop. WGA/CBA managed to make it into the meat of the story, and it reflects the tone of the ball perfectly I think. If you're curious, you can listen to it on youtube here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mTR_frLU1gc

_Wish I could shut my playboy mouth._

_How'd I turn my shirt inside out? Inside out babe._

_Control your poison babe_

_Roses with thorns they say._

_And we're all gettin' hosed tonight._

_Just dance. Gonna be okay._

_Da doo doo doo_

_Just dance. Spin that record babe._

_Da doo doo doo_

_Just dance. Gonna be okay._

_Duh duh duh duh_

_Dance. Dance. Dance. Just dance._

_~Lady Gaga~_

 

 

Nick was shocked to see how nicely Monroe cleaned up. He hadn’t even recognized him before he spoke, what with the mask and all. Tall, dapper, luxurious fabrics and a well trimmed, soft but manly beard. Nick felt attracted to the man he thought was a stranger that had been eyeing him from the game table. He had been standing near the deserts, one of Sean’s arms tightly around him (Sean always got sort of possessive at these kinds of things) when he noticed the man watching him for the second time that night. The color of his jacket had caught Nicks eye, a deep cognac brown that was not only beautiful but reminded Nick of a pair of leather house shoes his father had worn when Nick was a boy. Nick had very few memories of his parents, so anything that brought them to mind went immediately into a “good” category in his brain. So he loved the color of the man’s jacket, although it was velvet and not leather. He hadn’t had too much time to dwell on it though, because the DJ had begun a rousing instrumental of that song “What Goes Around Comes Around” and everybody knew that was a dance that everyone hit the floor to, it was not one to be missed.

 The couples whirled and stepped, mixing old world moves with new ones, ladies skirts spinning, mens shoes tapping. Sean was an excellent dancer (better than Nick, really) but the thing about the WGA/CBA dance was that you never stayed with your partner the whole time, and sometimes you would get swung catty corner across the room and lock elbows and find yourself spinning in splendid circles with an ex lover, or a complete stranger. Because everthing goes around, but in the end you would come back around to the one you loved. At least that’s what Nick thought the song meant. He had heard once that there were more lyrics to the original song, but he’d only ever heard the ballroom version, which sometimes included the chorus:

_What goes around, goes around, goes around_

_Comes all the way back around_

_What goes around, goes around, goes around_

_Comes all the way back around_

_What goes around, goes around, goes around_

_Comes all the way back around_

_What goes around, goes around, goes around_

_Comes all the way back around_

 

So in the midst of this reverie, Nick found himself flung into the arms of the stranger in the velvet, cognac colored coat. He wore a spectacular mask of black and gold, which seemed to emulate the image of a wolf, though it wasn’t so crude as some of them as to have a snout and teeth. It was more an artist’s imagining of a wolf, with points on the edges that resembled ears and the shape of the eyeholes and the way it curved over the mask. The man’s eyes looked oddly familiar, large and blue and wide wide open, nothing to hide, and then he spoke.

“You look amazing tonight, Nick,” said Monroe. Nick recognized him at once then, though it was a total surprise.

“Monroe?” he gaped, feeling Monroe grasp his waist and give him the lift needed to do the patented hop spin move the dance required. Nick almost kind of forgot to hop right there, but Monroe was strong enough to carry him without it. “Oh, sorry,” Nick grimaced. “I’m like the worst dancer in the world.”

“You’re not so bad,” Monroe said generously. “And besides, you make up for it in adorableness.”

“You think so?”

“Absolutely.” Nick felt a heated thrill go through him. What was this now? Why was he suddenly feeling attracted to a friend? One whom he’d never felt that way about before? Why did Monroe look so handsome? So… desirable? Nick felt himself going flush, and hoped that the light was dim enough inside for him to hide it. And then they were spun apart again, and Nick was back in Sean Renard’s sure hands, Sean oblivious to everything Nick was now feeling for the wrong man.

“Did you ever find out what the King wanted Damon and Alaric to look into?” Nick asked, in desperate need of the small talk at the moment.

“No, not yet. I suppose I’ll ask Damon the next time he comes into my dancing orbit.”

“You were dancing with Damon?”

“Yes, just now, didn’t you see?”

“No, I was concentrating on my own dance. You know how I foul it up if I’m not paying attention.”

“Yes, one of the many things I find I love about you, Nick.” Renard stole a kiss, which calmed him. Hearing about Sean dancing with Damon while having disloyal feelings about Monroe had been definitely riling him up. “Ah, here we go again!” Sean said as they flung each other in opposite directions, and once again Nick found himself dancing with Monroe, although this time he took definite notice of Sean dancing with his precious Damon. Nick couldn’t help it, he felt as though Damon would fuck his husband in a heartbeat, regardless of his own relationship status. The way he and Alaric were, it was probably allowed. Alaric was talking with Dean Winchester just now, and the two seemed to be getting along well enough. Maybe they were all a bunch of swingers, with only naïve, old fashioned Nick out of the loop. So not fair. Of course it was entirely possible that he was reading into things that weren’t really there, and that they were all just dancing at a party.

“Where is your head all of a sudden?” Monroe asked, spinning Nick about under one arm, and then pulling him in tight, chest to chest. Nick felt suddenly breathless.

“Sorry, I suppose I’m not being a very good partner,” Nick said huskily.

“I just hope I didn’t do anything to offend you the last time,” Monroe said.

“Not at all,” Nick said quickly. “It’s just…” his mind went blank, so he went with honesty. “It’s just I’m finding myself a little too attracted to you.” Now it was Monroe’s turn to get breathless. One sharp intake and he was agape, although he still managed to hit his steps correctly.

“You shouldn’t say things like that to me,” Monroe said.

“Why not? It’s the truth. I suppose you deserve that. Not that it matters, I’m a married man. It’s just… maybe you’ll understand why I’m acting like an idiot.”

“You don’t understand…” Monroe said, a look in his eyes that was almost pleading.

“What don’t I understand?” The time was coming fast for them to change partners, just a final measure of the song and it would be back to Sean. Monroe looked tongue tied. He was trying to say something though, Nick could tell. “What is it?” he urged.

“It’s just that I—I’ve always…” Monroe struggled to say the right thing. “The thing about you Nick…” Nick saw it coming. In just the brief moments before the partner change, it was as if time stopped, and Monroe, in his final four beats leaned in, scooping Nick’s mouth into his, kissing him as though it were the last kiss on earth, which for him, if Consulate Sean Renard saw this, it probably would be. Nick felt the kiss rush like a drug throughout his whole body. He loved his husband, he found him sexy, he loved being with him… and yet why was _this_ feeling so different… why did it feel like the beginning and the end and all that was in between? Why was it like coming home, like something written in the stars… like unconditional love? And then he felt himself being pulled back roughly, shoved aside. Sean was between them, and his right hook was a freight train and the destination was Monroe’s face. _Not good,_ Nick thought. _Not good at all._

 

*          *          *

 

Alaric hated dancing but Damon always insisted on it.

“Don’t be one of those guys,” Damon always said to him. “How predictable. ‘I’m a guy. I don’t dance.’ Blah blah. My guy dances. Just like I do.”

“Make Stefan dance with you. He’s from your era. He gets the dancing thing.”

“You had better get the dancing thing in a hurry, or you’re not going to get oral pleasure tonight.”

“You’re such a chick sometimes.”

“Not gonna work,” Damon chided dismissively. “Way too secure in my masculinity. Huh. Maybe that why I actually like dancing.”

“Fine,” Alaric relented, and they went onto the floor. That ‘goes around’ song was starting, god, wasn’t that one like eighteen minutes long? And it had all those special steps and Alaric only knew some of them. “But brothers dancing together are hot,” he added, hopeful for a last minute respite.

“Stefan and I are not that kind of brothers,” Damon said. “No matter how any times you wish it to be so. What do we look like, those Winchester freaks?” Alaric noticed that Dean Winchester was standing safely over by the champagne table, despite Benny being out on the floor with Katherine Pierce. So not fair. Damon in turn saw Sean dancing happily and willingly with Nick. So not fair. “Fine,” Damon said at the last minute. This song was too good to waste with a Mr. Poopy Pants. “Stefan, come dance with me,” he ordered. “I’m leading,” he added.

Stefan gazed at him for a moment, gauging whether Alaric was going to step in or not, and then agreed. “Sure,” he said, looking longingly yet stubbornly over at Elena, who almost looked like she was waiting for him to ask her since Katherine already had a partner. Damon and Stefan took their places in the line as the first verse kicked in, signaling the first steps to be taken.

“Trouble in paradise, brother?” Asked Stefan. Almost mockingly.

“No big deal, you know he hates to dance.”

“You’d think he would do it anyway, if only just to make you happy.”

“Not everybody is as self sacrificial as you, brother. Frankly I like a man with his own will. I’m definitely not going to be the boyfriend who guilts him into doing everything I want.”

“Since when?”

“Please, that’s never been me. Shit—move down two couples.”

“But we’ve already started the dance.”

“Yes, and now I see where Sean is, and I want to dance with him on the switch. So move your ass.”

“You’re leading, brother.”

“Oh that’s right, I am,” Damon concluded, and expertly swirled them into another position in the line, so that he would be sure to dance with Sean at the switch. “That’s what you get, Alaric,” he muttered.

“He might have heard that,” Stefan observed.

“Doubtful, with the music this loud. But if he did, oh well. He should have just fucking danced with me.”

“I knew you were pissed.”

“Shut up Stefan. And you’re welcome.” They spun apart, and Damon found himself in Sean Renard’s arms, Stefan in Elena’s, who had managed a partner at the last minute.

“Hello Sean.”

“You recognized me awfully quickly. Even in the mask?”

“I’d know that ass anywhere.”

“I am quite proud of it. But why are you dancing with your brother? You look exceptionally amazing tonight; I’m surprised Alaric could keep his hands off of you.”

“Not as surprised as I was, but the twentieth century white boy in him refused to allow him to have fun tonight. Turns out it’s stronger than his lust for me.”

“Maybe he just enjoys watching you from afar.”

“He’d better,” Damon said, glancing over and catching Alaric in a conversation with that blasted Dean Winchester. _Son of a bitch._ There was something about that guy that Damon just didn’t like, and seeing him twinkle those baby blues at Alaric was pissing him off royally. He pulled Sean closer, gracefully going airborne at the patented lift hop move of the WGA/CBA dance, and sliding back down Sean’s body without an inch of air between them, the version reserved for lovers, or at least those hoping to be. Sean looked definitely intrigued, although he was certainly smart enough to guess that Damon’s anger at Alaric was very possibly spurring this on.

“If you’re trying to make your boyfriend jealous, it would help if he was looking,” Renard snarked at him. Damon scowled.

“Fuck him,” he said defiantly, squeezing Sean’s ass before they separated at that point in the dance. Then he was back to Stefan, who had obviously been paying too much attention to him.

“Are you trying to start a fight between Sean and Alaric? Because I don’t think that’s a good idea, just to make Alaric prove how much he likes you. He’s crazy about you. He just doesn’t like dancing.”

“I’m not starting a fight. Why would you think that?” Damon asked innocently.

“Oh I don’t know, maybe because I watched you slide your privates down his body and then grab his ass.”

“Really brother, that’s part of the dance. Plus you should have been concentrating on your own love life.”

“Ass grabbing is not in _what goes around comes back around_ , last I checked. And Elena is no longer my love life. It was actually more awkward than anything else.”

“Well that’s your fault. You think you’d rather have Katherine?”

“I think I’d rather move on from both of them.”

“Then move on already! But you’re not. You’re moping.”

“Hey, I thought we were talking about you, and the mess that you’re trying to make.”

“No. _You_ were talking about me, and a mess that you wrongly presumed I was making. I see no mess. I see a dance with a friend. One Alaric practically begged me to have.”

“He begged you to dance with me, not Sean, the man you’ve been hot for since he was eighteen.”

“Please. Sean was not all that hot at eighteen. Although he did have that swagger… anyway, he’s crazy in love with his wife, and we are just friends, and Alaric doesn’t even seem to be noticing anyway, so why don’t you come off it brother and worry about your own shit.”

“Fine. Just trying to help.”

“Just trying to nag, you mean. Well I don’t need it. Switch.” And they spun off to their separate corners again, continuing the dance.

“Hello again,” said Sean, already flirtatious.

“Hello old friend,” said Damon.

“Have you gotten him to notice yet?”

“Not yet. I do hope he’ll look up before we start dry humping on the floor.”

“If that’s what it takes,” said Sean with a wink. “So you never did tell me what Angelus wanted from you.”

“Oh that,” Damon looked dismissive. Some bull crap from an oracle or something. I don’t know, we’re supposed to be wary of strangers. That’s why I was trying to find out about that man you all met at the Howling bar. Somebody is supposedly going to shatter our world and overthrow our Royal family, if we don’t stop it in time. It’s all really vague and boring, actually.” Damon shrugged. “Have you seen that man again?”

“Me? No, I haven’t,” Sean answered truthfully. “Except…” he trailed off, eyes across the room to where Alaric had been talking to Dean.

“Is that him?” Damon asked, seeing the man in the trench coat had joined the other two, talking intently to Dean. Alaric appeared to be listening to the conversation as well.

“I believe it is him,” Sean replied, as the dance spun him to face another direction. What he saw then made him stop cold, and Damon looked as well to see what had disrupted them. Nick Renard was caught up in a passionate embrace with another man in the middle of the dance floor, their mouths a single organism, their body language aflame with a shared passion. Damon dropped his arms from Sean as his friend sprinted across to his wife and grabbed at him roughly from behind, throwing him aside and landing an incredibly painful looking right fist smack into the offending man’s face. A collective gasp sounded from those near enough to witness.

“Now this is a party,” Damon said.

*          *          *

Dean refused to dance. Even when that ridiculously popular Timberlakeland crap came on, Benny knew better than to ask. He took the hand of that creepy hot Vampire twin instead, and took off to the floor. That was good by Dean. It was cool to watch them dance. The other Vampire twin (the “nice” one) looked at him for just a moment, but Dean shook his head. No dice, chickadee. He and Sammy leaned happily against the long counter that held the champagne coups and helped themselves to the bubbly. That is, until Prince Connor came up to them, that look of “I’m about to demand something and you’d better make it happen” on his face.

“You, tall guy from the Howling bar. What is your name?”

“Uh, Sam?” Sam sort of asked in return.

“Sam. I have sent my boyfriend home. He’s really square and was starting to bore me. Dance with me.” Connor held out a hand. Dean looked at Sam with incredible amusement spreading across his face.

“Don’t even think about refusing,” he said.

“Um, sure, if you want, Sam said, sounding unsure.

“Yes, I want,” said Connor. He snatched up Sam’s hand since Sam had yet to offer it, and pulled the reluctant Winchester out onto the floor. Dean shook his head chuckling to himself.

“Poor shmuck,” said a voice beside him. Alaric Saltzman, Damon Salvatore’s lover.

“Yeah,” Dean said, feeling noncommittal about any conversation between him and Alaric. He didn’t like most vampires; Benny was an exception. Alaric was pretty hot though, and he had nothing to fear in talking to him; he couldn’t touch Dean one iota because of the silver cuff he wore, signifying him as Benny’s property. “Sam is good at drawing the attention of dangerous suitors.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh yeah. He’s always falling in love with werewolves and demons and marked men… male or female, it doesn’t matter. They are always doomed in one way or another. This probably means the King’s brat prince doesn’t have long to live.”

“Carful, saying things like that around here.”

“Oh come on, I was only joking... more or less. He’ll be fine I’m sure… as long as Sammy doesn’t fall in love with him anyway.”

“You’re terrible.”

“Love is terrible, my friend. That’s why I’d rather have a contractual agreement any day. I care for Benny, we both care about each other. But love, love is when things get messy. Love always leads to heart break.”

“You sound like you speak from experience.”

“He does,” came an outsider’s voice, but one that was familiar. Dean recognized it at once, but it took him another minute to place it as belonging to the guy from the bar the other night, the one whom Nick Renard had insisting was hiding wings under his trench coat. The funny thing was, Dean had been thinking the same thing in regards to Alaric’s comment, although at the moment he could not think of why. The only heart break he could remember suffering had been the loss of his father, and that wasn’t the same thing. I mean, Freud would probably argue the two influenced each other, but that hadn’t been what he meant. He’d meant that he’d had his heart broken by a lover, although who that could have been seemed to fail him at the moment. And what the hell did this guy think he knew about it anyway?

“What would you know about it?” he asked Castiel.

“Because I lived it,” Cas answered simply enough.

“Like I said the last time, I don’t know you man.”

“No, not yet. But you will. You’ll know today, and everything will change.”

 Alaric appraised the two of them. He recognized love, and what this man had in his eyes for Dean Winchester was love, no doubt about it. Could he really have something to do with the King’s prophecy?

“Who are you?” Asked Alaric.

“I am Castiel. I am an Angel of the Lord.”

“I’m not sure your God has jurisdiction here,” said Alaric. “If that’s even true.”

“Oh it’s true alright. And God has jurisdiction everywhere. He is The Almighty, after all. That’s not just a cool nickname.”

Dean laughed at that.

“What are you doing here, man?” Dean asked.

“I am here for you, Dean,” Castiel said seriously. “To free you from imprisonment.”

“I signed that contract of my own free will.”

“Actually, no, you did not. It will all be made clear soon, I hope. Until then I am here to keep an eye on things. Until my friend has a chance to wake Angel up.”

“Do you mean Angelus?”

“No, I mean Angel. Just wait and see, Alaric.”

“And why shouldn’t I alert the king of your planned treachery here and now?”

“Do you know what this alleged treachery is, exactly?”

“Well… no, I guess not.”

“No, you don’t. And on top of that, you want to see it go forward. Because despite what memories you have, in your soul you are still your true self, Alaric. And that person is a hunter.”

“I haven’t been that in a very long time.”

“But in your heart you have. That’s why you are drawn to Dean. He is a hunter too.”

“No I’m not,” Dean denied it. Could this guy somehow know about his dad? Nobody was supposed to know about his family’s secret past. But somehow, he felt as though this Castiel person knew. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean insisted.

“I know more than you do, at the time being.”

“To hell with that!” Dean said angrily.

“I’m sorry Dean, I am not trying to upset you. Understand that this is difficult for me.”

“How so?”

“You are the one great love of my life,” Castiel said simply. Alaric gaped in shock, Dean felt the breath run out of him.

“That—that’s crazy.”

“It was crazy. A human being and an Angel… not only crazy, but forbidden. Since the days of Noah and the great flood. We are not allowed to fall in love with humans. The only way to do it is to fall from heaven, to lose your grace. I have done many things to earn my title as a fallen angel, but falling in love with you, Dean Winchester is the one thing I do not regret. Will never regret. I would give up my grace for you, but so far it has not been required.” Dean was trembling. He looked furtively around for Sam, for Benny. Both seemed to be noticing him talking to Castiel at about the same time, but only Benny abruptly left the dance floor to stride over to them quickly, a sure-fire fight in his eyes.

“What’s this?” Benny yelled, hands flying up in an expression of outrage.

“This is the righting of the wrongs,” replied Castiel righteously, determined. The sound of fist hitting face and a gasp of pain drew their attentions to the dance floor once again, where Sean Renard seemed to be jumping into an altercation with another man of about his height. Only Dean recognized him as Monroe.

“Shit,” said Alaric, seeing Damon mixed up in that mess, and darting off to see where he could help. Benny turned back to the matter at hand.

“Get away from my property,” Benny said angrily to Castiel.

“Benny, choose your words carefully,” Dean warned.

“This is not the time for that,” Benny said to Dean angrily.

“There is always time for you to show me my due respect,” Dean snapped.

“Stay away from my boyfriend,” Benny amended. Dean looked satisfied.

“He is not your anything,” said Castiel. “Dean Winchester does not belong to anyone. Don’t you understand that vampire?”

“Don’t you understand that I can kill your ass?”

“Benny,” cautioned Dean. “He says he’s an Angel of the Lord.”

“No such fucking thing,” countered Benny.

“I realize that you have been equally brainwashed,” Castiel said to Benny. “So I am going to try not to harm you. But the truth is that Dean has not chosen you. He chose me, I was his wish. He is your wish, and your wish won.”

“This jackass is batshit crazy to boot!” Benny yelled, the vein in his forehead bulging with his rising anger.

“You’ll want to keep your anger in control,” Castiel warned. Do not force me to harm you.”Benny took that as a provocation and swung at Cas, but as his fist connected with Castiel’s gut it felt like hitting iron, and he gasped in pain, looking both confused and outraged.

“What the hell are you?” he demanded.

“I’ve told you. I am the Angel Castiel. And I am here for Dean. You are sadly incidental.”

“The fuck I am!”

“Yeah, he keeps saying weird shit like that,” said Dean. “I don’t get it any more than you do. But calm the fuck down Benny. There’s no need to be acting like a damn Neanderthal. You’re a fucking Vampire, for crying out loud. Try and act classy.”

“How’s this for class?” Benny asked, pulling out a six shooter pistol and blowing a hole through Castiel’s stomach. Blood splattered across all of them, and a reaction of screams filled the room, but Castiel still stood there. One moment there was a whole right through him, and blood covered him, and the next minute he looked just as he had, with not a scratch on him.

“Holy…” Dean said.

“Well, yes,” said Cas. Benny’s eyes grew wide, and his gun clattered to the ground.

“How did you…” he managed.

“I told you,” said Cas. “Angel of the Lord. That’s the only one you get, Benjamin Lafitte. After that I’m smiting you.”

“The fuck…” Dean managed, looking at Benny worriedly. “How does he know your full name?” Benny shook his head, looking spooked. “Okay,” Dean said with finality. “No more fucking with this guy.”

The chaos in the room was reaching epic proportions. Renard and Monroe were in an epic battle royale, fighting the way only the Weson could, the refined but dastardly Hexenbiest and the animalistic Blutbad, tearing each other apart. Angelus had appeared now, the dance floor cutting him a clear path to the center of the mayhem when a skinny young man burst from the crowd and blocked his path, speaking loudly into the king’s face before his guards could apprehend him. The room began to spin, and Dean felt as though something indefinable and major was about to take place. He looked over at Castiel who seemed to know exactly what was going on.

“Don’t worry,” Cas said to him above the ruckus of the room. “We’re not leaving yet. There will be time to choose.”


End file.
